Masquerade
by s82
Summary: Tim finds out the hard way that he's not the only one in his family who's been keeping secrets. And this secret may cost him more than just a Robin suit. It may cost him his life. Pre.Identity Crisis AU. Completed with an additional scene 9.26.
1. Chapter One

_Disclaimer: _They aren't mine. Who would have thought patents were so expensive? Oh well. When I'm a billionaire like Wayne then I'll owe them. Till then, I'm just playing around folks. There is also a copyright on Keds that I mention once a bit later. And finally, a scene, which I won't give away now, is taken from a book/movie. Some may recognize it, others may not. After that chapter is posted, I'll put up the proper disclaimer.

_Rating: _PG for violence and some language.

_Timeline_: This story is kinda in its own little world. It takes place right after Jack finds out that his son has been spending his free time in spandex. Identity Crisis has not occurred (for one obvious reason) so this can easily be considered AU.

_Author's Notes:_ This story is going to be posted in two parts with chapters in each part. Not only did this story not start out as two parts, it actually began out of a single scene I couldn't get out of my head and grew from there. I separated it into two parts because I realized, the closer I get to finishing a story, the less detail there is. I didn't want that to happen so I considered this to be two different tales that intertwine. I hope you enjoy the story; it's been the most involved Robin piece I've ever done and has taken a lot of work that, I hope, has been worth it.

This story is finished, although I'm editing and revising it as I go. I'm about 20 pages into it so decided it was safe to post. I'm hoping to have a fairly regular posting schedule of about every 2-3 days, but with the holidays I don't want to promise anything. Yet, have no fear; you will get updates pretty regularly.

Also, feedback is wonderful and greatly appreciated. Now, without further ado, I bring you:

MASQUERADE

Masquerade: a) A costume party at which masks are worn b) A disguise or false outward show; a pretense c) An involved scheme; a charade.

Part One: Harder to Breathe

"Is there anyone out there? Cause it's getting harder and harder to breathe."

-Maroon 5

Chapter One:

It actually started well before the bad money troubles. Jack always enjoyed the thrill of having his money on the line, but, in reality, whatever was on the line he could afford. The real problem increased when the money was gone and they moved back to Gotham. Jack wasn't certain why he'd turned towards gambling as a means to help his family. When he'd gambled before he'd rarely paid attention to the games or races, but rather just enjoyed the company and the camaraderie that was shared between fellow gamblers. In Gotham, though, the gambling was a win or lose situation. Jack hoped that with a few choice games and victories, his family's troubles would be over. He also needed to feel like he was doing _something_ to help out instead of just sitting by and watching his life fall apart. So, gambling was his solution.

It also became his curse.

All too soon, things had gone wrong. One bad race cost him and in order to fix that, he, of course, had to continue the vicious cycle. One bad experience, quickly turned into four, and before he knew it, he owed his bookie twenty-five thousand dollars. That had been just a little over a week ago, and last night everything had utterly collapsed.

The Knights were a shoe-in to win. They had the ability, the experience, and the home advantage. But, they lost and Jack saw his debt increase to over one hundred thousand dollars. He may have been able to find a way to pay the twenty-five thousand back, but never could he afford over a hundred grand. He'd screwed up big time. And now Mike Gardenee, his bookie and a man Jack knew not to mess around with, wanted his money tonight. Jack had no money and had to go to his meeting with nothing of value to offer Gardenee.

Little did Jack know, he was going to pay with something more valuable than the money he owed.

...

Tim Drake wasn't use to being normal. His childhood had not been hard, but certainly not average. His parents constantly globe-trotted leaving him alone with servants. Then his mother had been killed and his father placed in a coma. Yet, before that, Tim had figured out one of, if not the greatest mysteries ever. Who Batman was. After that, well, whatever normalcy Tim had faked was forever gone. Tim become the three squire to Batman; The Robin. Well, to him it was The Robin in capital letters, for everyone else it was more ... robin. Regardless, the teenager had become one of Gotham's nighttime protectors. Since then, his life had been on one large cycle downwards that ended with Robin being taken away from him by his father.

After losing the costume, Tim had become _normal. _Or, at least, that was what he'd told himself everyday he woke up and got ready for school after a full night's sleep. The problem was he certainly didn't feel normal. There had always been too many thoughts running around his head, too many secrets, and too many times that Tim had to just leave his pseudo-normal life at the drop of a hat. Things like that had never made for a normal existence and attempting to live like that now was hard. And awkward.

The former Boy Wonder was stuck in a routine of waking up, going to school, coming home, eating dinner, doing work and actually sleeping. It was what he, during the hardest times of being Robin, longed for, but now that he had it, it was the last thing he wanted. He felt trapped in a world that he never belonged to and never would. He knew it was slowly driving him insane and he found himself despondent about everything. For Tim, his existence had become a sort of blur of worthless hours and days.

Today was no different. He'd eaten breakfast quietly with his father and Dana. Not a word was said as always. He headed to school, did classes that he use to be able to pass without even attending most of the time, then came home. His father was waiting in the kitchen, but he didn't say anything. Jack never seemed to say a word to his son. Tim walked pass silently and sat in the living room. When he'd first stopped his nightly activities, Tim use to watch the news, but all too quickly, he found how painful it was to listen to the horrible things that had occurred in Gotham. Now, the teenager just sat and did homework listlessly. It was the normal existence of a teenage boy.

And he hated it.

Tim would never, however, go back on what he promised to his father. For a majority of his young life, he had made promises and tried his damnest to keep to them. In the long run, this was simply another promise that he had to keep and, he knew, he owed it to his father. So, he would bear the mundane existence for as long as was necessary, even if that meant forever.

...

When Jack came downstairs, he found his son hunched over some school textbook. He watched with interest as Tim half-heartedly wrote answers in a notebook. Every-so-often, the young man would sigh with boredom and continue writing.

Jack knew his son was bored with more than just homework. For the past month, he watched as Tim went from a secretive although active teenager to a listless body. The older man never considered that when he told Tim he could no longer be Robin how much of the crime fighter persona had been ingrained into his son's psyche. With Robin removed from Tim's life, it was as if the young man had lost his drive. Jack was not certain what he could do. He never wanted his son to dress up in that suit again. More than that, he never wanted Tim to go near Bruce Wayne again. That man was one step away from crazy and Jack would _not _have his son fall back into cahoots with him.

Jack knew keeping his son from being Robin was the best thing that could happen to him.

To _them_.

Soon Tim would realize how much better his life was without nightly activities. With that self-assuring thought, Jack moved into the kitchen.

Tim, who had been working on calculus homework, knew that his father was watching him. He briefly wondered what was going though his dad's head, but then quickly realized that he didn't care. Lately, Tim cared a lot less about what his father thought because all that mattered was that he didn't think Tim should be Robin. With a mental sigh, the young man looked up from his work and at his father.

The two Drakes stared at each other without a word passing between them. They had been doing a lot of that lately. Before "The Incident," father and son hadn't talked often, but they certainly had been able to hold a conversation. Now, however, the simplicity of talking to each other escaped both of them. Tim wanted to know when he could be Robin again and Jack wanted to pretend the whole ugly incident never occurred. Therefore, neither knew what to say, so they said nothing at all.

In the end, Jack broke the eye contact first, Tim, after all, learned how to stare from the best of them, and move towards the coffee Dana had prepared. Tim watched his father for a moment before looking back to his work. Jack got his coffee and spared one more look at his son. With a sad shake of his head, the older man left.

...

It never ceased to amaze Jack that no matter where in Gotham someone went it always smelled like a sewer. _Somehow_, he thought, _it was fitting_. The town was riddled with crime and dirt and why should the environment be any different?

On top of that, Jack had to meet Gardenee and found the aroma of stench appropriate. Jack had seen enough gangster and mob movies to know that he was walking into a trap. Still, there was nothing he could do other than go. At least, he hoped, whatever happened would happen quickly.

For over an hour, Jack stood in the soft lamplight of the dock with no sign of Gardenee. Over and over again, his mind raced through all the possible things that could happen once Mike got to him. It had not been a pleasant hour to say the least. Finally, just as his thoughts turned even more gruesome, he saw a black Buick approaching. Jack felt his pulse increase as the car stopped and he watched a tall man wearing a dark purple suit exit. Mike Gardenee walked to Jack.

"Where's the money?" He asked as his lit a cigarette.

Jack swallowed convulsively and spared a glance at Gardenee's two flanking bodyguards. "I...uh...I don't have it."

Mike took another drag of his cigarette before throwing it to the ground. The men all stood in silence until Gardenee leaned over to one of his bodyguards. Jack watched the two discuss something that he couldn't hear and, deep inside, he probably didn't want to know what they were saying.

_I should have told Dana that I love her and Tim that I'm sorry, _Jack thought as he prepared himself to die. This wouldn't be the first time he faced death and he would do so as strongly as possible.

Suddenly, Gardenee turned back to Jack. "I am disappointed to hear you can't pay. We'll get our money from you tomorrow."

The man then turned and walked towards the car with his bodyguards in tow. Jack took a step towards them and called out:

"But I don't have anything to give you!"

Mike stopped, but did not turn around. "There is always something you can give me. There is always something you can lose."

And with that the men were gone and Jack was left with those foreboding words echoing in his head.

...

It was late when Jack returned and he was surprised to find his son watching television in the dark. The glow from the screen made Tim look much younger than his sixteen years and, for a moment, Jack was content to believe his son was younger and things were as easy as they had been then. But, all too quickly, the moment passed and Jack was very aware of how old his son really was. Tim's attention was drawn to the show he was watching and the older man realized that his son hadn't look up when he entered. Stepping closer, Jack moved to see what grabbed the teenager's attention so much.

On the television screen was an old warehouse lit up by a helicopter spotlight. On the bottom of the screen was a caption that read:

"Mad Hatter Escapes. Holding Two Hostages."

Jack could see his son's eyes darting back and forth across the screen as if looking for something.

_No, _Jack realized_. For someone._

"Go to bed, Timothy." Jack said and watched his son jump slightly. The young man quickly changed the channel and looked embarrassingly up at his father as if he had been caught with his hand in a cookie jar.

"Um, sorry." Tim muttered not entirely sure why. He then stood and left the living room without a word.

"Good night." Jack called after his son, but Tim didn't response and Jack heard the teenager's door shut.

Jack looked back at the blank television and sighed deeply. As hard as it was to admit, his son wasn't the only one who kept secrets.__

...

TBC…


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer and notes found in first chapter.

…

Masquerade:

Chapter Two

Tim found that since he had stopped his nighttime activities and went to bed at reasonable hours, he woke up early. Even on Saturdays. It was six in the morning and even Dana wouldn't be up yet. Bored already, the young man left a note to his parents saying he was going to the corner store for milk. Truth be told, Tim was going to find a newspaper to tell him what had happened last night with the Mad Hatter. The young man had gone to his room last night after his father returned, but falling asleep was another story. There was something very unnerving about knowing the Mad Hatter was free and there was nothing Tim, or rather Robin, could do about it. In the end, the only thing that helped Tim fall asleep was knowing that Bruce and the others were out keeping the city safe.

Now though, he had the chance to at least gain something informative about what happened last night without his father knowing. Tim left the note, promising to be home within the hour.

Tim knew he was being followed and knew that he had been for about a mile now. After all, you didn't become sidekick to Batman based on luck alone. He hadn't been able to sort out who exactly was behind him, but knew that it was one person (at least on the ground) and they had been keeping a distance of around fifty feet. All in all, Tim found the person to be doing a very poor job following him and figured he couldn't be much more obvious. Listening to the slight noise of the man's boots (he had snuck a look back as he turned a corner and recognized the frame as male) Tim knew he should turn around and face this man, but some part of him that had always found pleasure in the games that got played while in costume, was enjoying stringing this man along.

With a self-satisfying smile, Tim saw an upcoming alley and his perfect chance to take down his tailgater. The anticipation of the upcoming pounding he would inflict made Tim almost giddy. It had been much too long since he had the chance to take someone down._Maybe I'll ask him why he's been following me. A little interrogation, _Tim thought to himself as he turned into the alley.

Instantly the smile that had graced his face vanished as he found himself facing seven fairly large men. Knowing he wasn't up for that kind of battle, Tim turned to quickly exit the alley only to find the man who had been tailing him standing with two other buddies._What's going on? _The young man thought even as he realized something was seriously wrong. A glimpse of movement cause Tim to quickly duck, although a moment too late. The double-fisted blow that had been aimed for the back of his head, caught him on the shoulder. Due to being off-balance and location of the hit, the young man began to fall to his side. Instinct set in and Tim allowed his body to roll with the hit, so that his shoulder contacted the ground and gave him momentum to roll, finally resting back on his feet.

Facing the circle of men, Tim allowed his mind to calm and his stance to become defensive. Tim was ready for a fight, but that didn't mean he wasn't a bit off-kilter wondering why there was a sudden, and obviously organized, attack on him. The young man had no time to consider the reasons for this situation before two of the men attacked.

The men, although versed in fighting, were not prepared for a victim who fought back and fought back strongly. Very quickly those two fell and Tim stood ready for the next onslaught. He was not disappointed as two more attackers rushed him.

It was as he faced these two that Tim's eye caught sight of another man entering the alley. Two men flanked this man and instantly the teenager knew this man was in charge of everything that was going on. Dodging the attacks from the men, Tim worked to make his way closer to this headman. The young man neatly took care of his newest adversaries and found himself facing the man in the dark brown suit.

The man gazed at the Tim for a long moment before he smiled slightly.

"I never would have guessed you'd be raised a fighter."

Tim narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.

The man spoke again, "You're gonna be very useful to me for the next two days."

The young man stared defiantly and opened his mouth to say something he considered witty, but the chance never came. Unnoticed by Tim, a man from the circle snuck up behind him. The teenager felt the taser connect to his side and instinct caused him to twist away from the paralyzing bolt of electricity he knew was coming. However, he was not fast enough and the taser was released. Tim slumped to the ground unconscious.

Mike looked down at the now prone body with a sneer.

"Put him in the car and make sure he'll stay out."

The men picked up the unconscious teenager and loaded him into the car, being certain to inject a generous amount of sedative. Gardenee followed his men out of the alley and move to his own car. He wouldn't know where the men were taking the boy, nor would he know what they did to him. The only rule was no killing or fatally wounding. Everything else was a go because Mike always got his money one way or another.

---

Jack Drake paced angrily in his small living room. His son had been gone well past the hour he said he would be out. This sort of thing used to happen all the time, but Jack never found himself capable of losing that innate fear whenever his son was not home at a proper time. Of course, he knew that was a sign of a good father; he worried for his child. However, this time it was different. Jack knew all about his son's secret life and knew, undoubtedly _knew_, that Tim was somewhere breaking his promise to give up Robin. For the first time in his fatherhood, Jack Drake was not worried for his son and instead was enraged.

Tim had promised and that was not something a Drake took lightly. Regardless of all the past lies, Jack truly believed that his son would hold onto this promise because, if he did not, there was so much more at risk. But, Jack realized, promises meant nothing to his son and lying had become second nature to him. He wasn't sure what he would do when Tim got home, but he sure as hell would make that kid realize what the cost of this lie would be. Damn Bruce to hell, he would go public with the whole Batman and Robin charade and end this cycle of insanity.

With that somewhat comforting thought, Jack finally sat down and waited for Tim to return.

---

Consciousness came quickly to the young man, however years of training were never lost and so, though fully awake, Tim appeared as listless as he had been moments before. _Survey your surroundings._ It was the first rule when one woke up from being knocked out. Usually, Tim forwent that rule and instead went with his own: _Make sure you have the mask still on! _But that didn't apply here so Tim was happy to neglect that obsession part of his behavior while in outfit.

Keeping his breathing shallow and slow, Tim listened and found there was no noise anywhere. No footsteps, no voices, but even more concerning, no cars. Gotham's public transportation was very lacking and, to not hear a single engine, meant to Tim that he was either up very high or outside of the city. The latter one he could deal with, the former he didn't enjoy so much. At least, the young man reasoned, no one was with him currently. Taking that thought to heart, Tim opened his eyes and surveyed his surroundings.

Immediately, he knew he was no longer in Gotham because the city did not possess any thing cabin-like and that was certainly where he was located. He was lying on a hardwood floor, facing a good size fireplace. The large room was decorated with a soft couch and chair, a small wooden dining table, and many different animal heads. There were three doors and Tim assumed one lead outside, the other two probably to bedrooms. Tim lifted his head and attempted to look out of the window by the couch. It was a fruitless venture, since he noticed boards covering the outside. So, he noted, someone had thought ahead and made certain he was unable to figure out his surroundings and escape. Sighing slightly and knowing he could gain no further knowledge from his place on the floor, the Former Boy Wonder felt the bonds that held him.

A smile came unbidden to his face even as he realized some mean knots held him. Yes, they were well-crafted knots, but nothing that Dick hadn't tried to tie him up with before. In under a minute, Tim's wrists were free and his tied ankles soon followed. Standing and stretching lightly (being mindful of the headache he felt forming from the blow to his head), the young man began to walk towards the windows. He found them, as he already noted, nailed shut from the outside. Knowing that route was going to prove too much work, Tim shrugged and headed towards the front door.

Before he was even half way across the room, however, said door opened and two rather impressively sized men entered. Tim froze and, without a second thought, moved into a fighting stance.

The two men shared a look and then began to laugh. "Hey look, he wants to fight, " one man commented.

Tim didn't move out of his stance, but mentally cursed, uncertain what he should do. Usually, Tim Drake was the kid that got picked on in gym class, the nerd who did little to fight off any bullies. However, that was far from the case. If he had wanted to, Tim could have already taken these two men down and been out the door, halfway to his home, but that would mean taping into his Robin persona. He'd been beaten up before as Drake, but that had been different, people who knew him only as Tim had been watching and they knew what kind of fighter he was, or rather, wasn't. He was in a mental battle with himself not certain he should risk an all-out fight with these men, but also not certain he could sit idly by and be the helpless kidnap victim that could, in all reality, get seriously hurt.

The young man stared at the older men across from him and made a decision to wait before provoking a fight. Tim allowed himself to relax and, as soon as he did so, the two moved forward surrounding the teenager on both sides.

"Glad you decided to be smart and not get yourself killed just yet." Blondie (mentally named by Tim due to the color of his hair and to keep him separate from Brownie, the other man) said. Brownie nodded his head in agreement and then put a hand on Tim's shoulder. Tim could feel the hand clench tightly, probably even bruise, but he made no outward sign of discomfort. There was a part of him that was still Robin, even if it was hidden for the time being.

"What do you want with me?" The Former Boy Wonder asked, in what he hoped was a confused and frightened voice. He knew that he could only get away with so much of a brave-front before it become unrealistic. He needed to be a kidnap-victim in surroundings he did not recognize with two men that could hurt him. So, shoving the Robin pride deep down, he acted just like that.

"That's not for you to know," Blondie replied. "What you're suppose to do is sit down not give us any trouble."

Tim spared a glance at Brownie, now known as Mic, and mentally sized the man up. He was big, bigger then Blondie, but that didn't mean much. _The bigger they are, the harder they fall_,Tim thought with a mental smile.

Mic, in mobster movie style that made Tim want to roll his eyes, pounded his fist into his open palm. _Act scared, this is supposed to scare you,_ the teenager reminded himself and promptly looked back to Blondie with wide eyes.

"Yeah," Mic echoed and the young man knew he wasn't surrounded by the sharpest tools in the shed. "And if you really piss me and Hal off we'll teach ya some restraint."

Tim was tempted to correct Mic's English, but withheld and only nodded as if he understood and would be no trouble. _Well, no trouble for now._

Hal nodded at Mic and the two men moved to Tim and pushed him in the general direction of one of the doors. Mic stepped in front of Tim, opened the door, and the sight of a dingy bedroom greeted the teenager. There was a bed, a single desk, and a boarded up window inside the room.

"Stay in here and don't cause any trouble."

"I just want to know what's going on." Tim said, still trying to satisfy his need for some information.

"You should have talked to your father more often then," Hal said and then walked out of the room behind Mic. Tim actually felt his jaw drop open in surprise and barely noticed the door being shut and locked.

_My Dad? _He questioned mentally as he took a seat on the shaky bed behind him. _What does he have to do with this? _The young man shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. All of this, although previously mysterious, now took on epic proportions of incomprehension and Tim really wished he knew what was happening.

TBC...


	3. Chapter Three

Well, yeah, never quote me about posting. I am sorry for the delay and the fact my "I'll post every three-five days" went out the window. Real life took a nice swift kick at me and landed solidly. I've been dealing with that and, by doing so, haven't felt up to editing and whatnot. But I'm back. I head back to school (last 6 months!) in about 4 days, but hope to keep the parts coming regularly.

I now have to give a great big shout-out to my new beta, Velta. She's been wonderful so far and I know I she's helped to improve this story.

Finally, Dick, who shows up here for the first time, is in his own little limbo world. I'm throwing the comics out the window for him and, currently, he is simply Nightwing in Bludhaven being a happy camper.

Lastly, notes/disclaimer in part one.

…

Masquerade:

Part Three

…

It had been twenty-four hours since his son had gone missing and now that the initial anger had passed, Jack Drake found himself in enough control to make his way over to Wayne Manor. He was well aware, after his last encounter with Bruce, that he didn't stand a chance going against the man physically, and so he had to approach the subject of Tim with as much calm as he could muster. All in all, it wasn't much. Jack ambled up the steps, took a deep breath and pounded away at the hard, though beautiful, wooden door. Almost immediately, Alfred's calm and composed face came into view.

"Where's Wayne?" Jack growled, finding that his calmness passed before it even made itself truly known. He was no longer certain if it was only anger that drove him or perhaps fear was pressing him. A small part of Jack wished that he'd never found out what his child had been doing at night and he remained blissfully worried only about drugs and sex. Now, all he could picture was his son being held captive by one of the many psychos that roamed Gotham's streets. It was this terrifying feeling of not knowing what had befallen Tim that cause Jack's anger to over take him.

Alfred, for his part, was unflustered by the Jack's harsh demand. The gentlemen's gentlemen opened the door wider allowing Jack access to the mansion. "He is in the study and I shall tell him you are here. May I inquire what this is about?"

Jack bit out a response. "You know damn well what this is about."

"Very good, sir." Alfred said kindly, while moving to get Bruce.

Jack didn't have to wait long for Bruce to show. Both men stared at each other from across the rather vast hallway.

"Where's my son?" Jack asked and received an answer right away: "I don't know."

Jack was the first to move forward. "The hell you don't! Where do you have him running off to? Who is he fighting? I want him back _now_." Bruce kept his face impassive, but inside was seething at the word-choice Jack used towards his son. _He sounds like Tim's a lost piece of luggage_, Bruce thought.

"I can't tell you what I don't know."

The older man stepped up to Bruce's face and put a finger against the taller man's chest.

"I will go public," he threatened. "I warned you before and I was placated then because my son gave up this ridiculous charade. But now I am not so easy to make happy. I want you to contact my son now."

Bruce looked down at the finger on his chest thinking of all the ways he could break that single digit. Moving his gaze back to Jack, the younger man narrowed his eyes making certain that Jack understood how serious he was.

"I want you to believe me, I have not had contact with your son since you both were here. I do not know where he is."

Jack opened his mouth, no doubt to yell more at Bruce, when Alfred entered.

"I do not mean to interrupt, but Mrs. Drake is rather insistent she talk to Mr. Drake."

Jack turned to the butler. "Tell her I'll call her back," he hissed out angrily.

Alfred still kept his calm and spoke. "She seems rather distraught. I would recommend speaking with her. After that, I am certain, Mr. Wayne will continue the conversation."

Jack cursed under his breath, but nodded to Alfred and followed the butler into the kitchen. Bruce stood alone and waited a minute before removing a small black phone from his pocket. Hitting a single button, Bruce waited till the other person picked up and a rather muffled voice answered.

"Mmmpff?"

"Try words, Dick."

There was a clatter on the other end and a few curses before Dick spoke again.

"Why are you calling me now?"

"Is Tim there?"

There was a moment of silence before Dick answered. "Are you serious? I haven't seen him since, well, you know."

Bruce mentally sighed. He'd been hoping Tim simply had enough of his father and needed to escape. Dick and Bludhaven was the first place Bruce could think of. However, that appeared to be a dead-end and now Bruce had to wait till Jack returned.

Dick's voice broke the older man out of his reverie. "What's going on?"

Bruce spared a glance at the kitchen. "I think Tim may be in over his head with his father."

…

Jack grabbed the phone from Alfred without a word.

"Hello?"

"Jack? Oh Jack, it's terrible."

Jack gripped the phone tighter. "What is it?

Dana's voice continued to hitch with repressed sobs. "There's a note on our door. Someone's taken Tim!"

Jack felt his knees go weak as he listened to Dana sob over the phone. Someone had taken his son and, with a shiver of fear, Jack had a pretty good idea who it was.

There is always something you can lose.

As if someone had turned on a light in his head, Jack knew (somehow undoubtedly _knew_ that Gardenee had taken his son. This wasn't about Robin or about Batman, but instead was about Tim Drake. Jack closed his eyes and held the phone tighter.

"Dana...Dana honey, I'm going to be home in a few minutes, but first I have to ask Bruce one more thing."

"Jack, what's going on?"

The older man pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know," he lied, but seeing no other option. "I'll be home soon. Just sit tight and keep your eyes open in case anything else is dropped off."

"I'll...I'll see you soon then."

Jack hung up the phone and simply stared at it. What had he done? This was his fault. But, Jack thought looking back towards the hallway he just came from, he could fix this; he _had_ to fix this. And, after all, the world's greatest detective was a merely a room away.

…

Tim had grown sick of just sitting in the room and uselessly trying to figure out what his dad had to do with all this. Right now, he really needed to do something and to get himself freed. The only problem was the detective inside of him refused to leave without knowing more about what was going on. Hal all but said that Jack was involved in this whole ordeal. The question was, how was he involved? Tim entertained the thought that his dad was behind the kidnapping for all of about two seconds and then realized that was just ridiculous. His dad may have been upset, okay down right angry, with him these the last two months, but never would he have done this. The teenager was obviously the pawn in some larger game involving his father, but that was as much as he could assume. So, the teenager needed the truth that he'd never get from his father out of these two men who were holding him captive.

Therefore, Tim made a plan. He would play the terrified victim some more and hope one of the men would slip up. If that didn't happen, then he would play a more active role. He couldn't do much without his old utility belt, but he could still do enough. If playing the victim didn't work then he would play the aggressive negotiator.

…

Jack left the kitchen feeling as if his stomach had dropped to his feet. His son had been kidnapped and Jack all but knew who took him. Now, as any father would do, Jack was going to get help for his son. In fact, the best help there was.

Jack found Bruce standing just where he had left him. The two men stood worlds apart save for the one young man in their lives that they shared. Jack swallowed and hoped Bruce truly cared for his son as much as Tim cared for Bruce.

"Timothy has been kidnapped and I think it was by Mike Gardenee."

Bruce stared at Jack and furled his brows. "Why do you think that?"

The older man felt his face flush. "I owe him money," he almost whispered.

Bruce knew there was only one reason why someone owed Gardenee money and, thinking this, he could only shake his head at the man Jack Drake had become. It certainly was a different person than he had known almost twenty years ago.

"I'll look into Mike and see what I can find. I want you to go home to Dana and call Alfred with any news you receive. Leave the police out of it for now."

And with that, Jack left feeling very worthless, and yet, some how comforted by the fact Bruce would take care of things on his end. Tim had come between Bruce and Jack, and now, it seemed like he would somehow bring them together.

Bruce waited until Jack left before calling Alfred back in.

"Does Tim have any tracking devices left on him?"

Alfred, who "accidentally" had listened in, answered, "I believe he still has one in the watch we gave him for his birthday."

Bruce nodded and headed to the Cave in hopes of finding his young ex-partner.

…

Jack returned home a mere twenty minutes after talking to Dana. His wife met him at the door to their apartment and instantly he knew something else had occurred. Dana bit her lip as she watched Jack get closer.

"What happened?" Jack asked once he stood in front of her.

Without a word, the younger woman handed her husband a small box. Jack could tell that Dana had looked inside and due to her current state, he wished he didn't have to know what the box held. But, his son was missing and he had to find him, so with a determined squaring of his shoulders, Jack opened the box.

Inside sat a small silver Rolex watch. Instantly, Jack recognized the aqua-green face. Flipping it over, he saw the inscription he knew was there.

"To Timothy. Happy Sixteenth Birthday. Love Bruce, Dick and Alfred."

The watch had been an unwelcome birthday gift from the Waynes at a time that Jack could hardly afford frivolous gifts. Tim loved it and wore it religiously. Of course, that was before Jack knew the intimate secrets of Bruce and now the obsession with the gift made sense. Tim looked up to Bruce as an idol and any gift from him had to make his son's day. Apparently, Tim had quite the love for his surrogate family.

Pushing these angering thoughts aside, Jack took out the small slip of paper that sat in the box. Written on it was a simple message:

"We have your son. He is currently unharmed and will remain that way so long as you pay the known price in forty-eight hours. After that time, I cannot guarantee your son's safety. If you go to the police, he will be killed. MG"

Jack felt his knees go weak and slowly he lowered himself to the ground. Dana watched her husband and followed him to the ground.

"Who is MG and why does he have Tim?"

Jack looked at his wife, knowing all the secrets that now existed between them could easily tear them apart. Secrets had already torn him away from his son and now threatened Tim's life. With new resolve, Jack knew it was time to stop lying to his family, starting with his wife.

"There's a lot I have to tell you," he confessed as he stood. "We should go inside." The weariness that had afflicted Jack only moments before was replaced with a mission. Dana would know all the secrets that had been created and together, with the help of Bruce, they would find their son.

After that, they would fix everything and they could finally be a family.

_TBC..._


	4. Chapter Four

Author's Notes: Please note this chapter has some rather violent, uh, violence at the end of it. Read with caution. I do not believe the rating needs to be over PG, but I wager it's more of a PG-12. I'm open to suggestions. Finally, there is an additional disclaimer at the end for people to read. 

Enjoy!

Masquerade: Chapter Four

The door opened violently and Tim was jolted out of his thoughts by the entrance of Hal and Mic. The two men swarmed on the young man sitting on the bed.

"How ya doing?" The man asked with a sneer and Tim was tempted to jump off the bed and wipe that look off the larger man's face. But, he had a plan in mind and, right now, it didn't involve attacking one of his kidnappers.

"What do you want?" I seriously need to think of something else to say, Tim thought even as he asked the question.

Hal merely shrugged. "Nothing right now. We've got two days to spend together before we get to have some fun with you."

The teenager made a mental note that he would be useful for two days. A time limit usually meant he was being bargained for something, but what? His father had lost everything in the last year and the Drake name meant nothing anymore. Intrigued even more, Tim searched his mind for a way to get more information.

"What happens then?" It wasn't the best of questions, but at least it would keep the dialogue moving.

Mic stepped forward and spoke "No money, no more you."

Hal slapped Mic on the back of the head. "Shut up!"

But he'd already said enough for Tim. Money was involved so he was really being held for ransom. Somehow his dad had gotten involved with men who played dirty and Tim was the leverage. Although the image was still skewed and missing facts, the teenager was content enough to leave now. He'd heard enough to know that he wouldn't get anymore from these men.

With speed he usually only used while in his old Robin costume, Tim jumped off the bed and flew at Mic. Neither of the men were prepared for any kind of fight, not having witnessed Tim's physical prowess in the alley. The young man felt his hand solidly connect with Mic's chin and the large man staggered into the single desk in the room slumping against it stunned. Tim turned and his fist found purchase on Hal's face. Before he could recover, Tim brought his knee into Hal's ribs leaving the man bent over and winded. Without sparing a glance back at his two kidnappers, the teenager jumped around Hal and ran out the bedroom door.

He knew both of the kidnappers had only been stunned and not knocked unconscious, but that didn't mean much. Tim had been trained by the best and he was fast even without any of his gear. After exiting the cabin, he took a sharp left, causing his traction-lacking Keds to slide slightly. The young man found himself able to see the tall buildings of Gotham. Doing a quick calculation, he assumed he had to be only about five miles away from the main highway leading into the city. He could get there in less than half an hour. Barely slowing his pace, Tim turned slightly right, heading towards the highway. Sparing a look, he noticed Hal was within seeing distance, but already breathing heavily. Smiling to himself, he turned his back and began the sprint to freedom.

The turning of his back proved to be the young man's undoing. When he had a chance to look back on the moment, he knew that his mind had been too occupied with the small victory and, because of that, the recharge of a gun being fired entered his brain too late. Once Tim realized the danger he was in, even his spilt-second maneuvering, didn't allow him to avoid the small tranquilizer dart that stabbed him in the shoulder. Swearing, Tim didn't stop his movement, hoping the two men had not been well prepared enough to buy anything of substance. His hopes proved wrong.

Five steps later, Tim felt his legs fall out from under him and the last thing he saw was the sweaty face of Hal angrily looking down at him.

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Tim found himself regaining consciousness in the small cabin. Unlike the first time, he was not alone for this journey back to self-awareness. The young man opened his eyes to see both his kidnappers standing next to him. Tim unflinchingly stared at them and said nothing.

"That was stupid, kid," Hal said. Tim had to hold back a smile as he noticed a large bruise covering close to half of the man's face. He knew he had hit him well, but not that well. It almost made this moment bearable except for the fact he could hardly feel his body from the left over tranquilizer.

Almost as if he could read Tim's mind (a very unnerving thought), Mic spoke, "The tranq will wear off in about another hour, but until then you won't be able to move a finger." A ghost of a smile past over the man's lips and Tim felt his body shiver against his will. "Something that will prove very useful for us."

Before the young man could offer any sound of protest, his body was manhandled off the floor and carried back into the bedroom. The teenager tried to fight, but found what Mic said to be true; his body refused to make any mental to physical connections and, scarily Tim realized, he had no chance of defense.

Tim was throw on the bed and his body bounced a few times before coming to rest face down. Bringing any and all of his strength to bear, Tim pulled his arms under his body and lifted himself up. Mic noticed this and quickly flipped the young man over on his back. Getting a tight grip on the young man's right arm, Hal securely fastened it to the headboard. In less then thirty seconds, he did the same to Tim's left arm.

All of this moving was taking place too fast for Tim's drugged brain to comprehend much of anything and, by the time things stopped, Tim found himself tied to all four corners of the bed by his hands and feet. Never had he felt so exposed and, for the first time since being kidnapped, he felt genuinely afraid.

Mic moved close to Tim's head and leaned over. "I can see you're finally afraid," he stated, uncannily speaking Tim's thoughts again. "You have every right to be. We're making sure you won't run from us again."

The young man knew a warning when he heard one and swallowed nervously, unable to slow his beating heart. He didn't want to know what the man meant, but a part of him knew he'd find out soon enough.

It was just as Tim's limbs started to tingle that the two men came back in. Now fully capable of moving his body, Tim had spent the last ten minutes attempting to free himself from this terribly exposed position, but found everything bound too tightly. His body was taut due to the restraints and they didn't allow him leverage in any direction.

"I think he's ready, Mic." Hal said as they walked into the bedroom. Tim gave them both his best Bat-glare, but said nothing because, at that moment, he saw Mic enter. With him, the man carried a large hammer, close in size to a sledgehammer. Bile rose in the young man's throat and he began to shake his head.

"We were told to not kill you or hurt you too bad, but hey, accidents happen don't they?" Hal said as he moved closer to the bed.

"No, please," Tim said quietly as he watched the man stop at the end of the bed by his legs. He'd seen enough mob movies, hell even enough real-life mobs, to understand that he was in serious danger.

Mic laughed. "Oh look, he's begging."

He then moved to Tim's left leg and stood over it. Carefully, he took a step back and swung the hammer towards the boy's unprotected leg. He stopped the momentum scant inches above Tim's leg and then looked at the teenager's pale face.

Tim held the man's eyes silently pleading with him not to do what he feared would be done. "Please," he whispered not even aware how terrified he looked at that instant. In another time, in another outfit even, Tim never would have found himself begging. But, at this current moment, he was nothing more then a terrified sixteen-year-old boy who was in way over his head. Tim could feel his eyes begin to burn with unshed tears of fear, but he did not let them fall. Instead he held the older man's eyes, attempting to cease any further action that might be carried out. For a moment, the young man felt he might have reached Mic.

But the moment passed, and the hammer was raised again. The man looked at Tim in the eyes, "Sorry, kid." He said as the hammer descended, this time not to stop till it hit the bed, traveling through Tim's lower leg.

At the moment of impact, it was lucky that the two kidnappers had thought ahead and moved away from the city. The ear-splitting scream that was torn from Tim's mouth at the sudden and indescribable pain of his leg being shattered would surely have been heard by no less then ten people within the city confines. The resonating sound echoed in the small room, yet as quickly as it had come, it left. Tim cut off his cry and clamped his mouth shut in order to gain some resemblance of control over the situation. However, the young man couldn't stop his body's movements and neither of the men watching said a word as Tim fought vainly against the restraints that held him. To them, it looked as if he was trying to move away from the searing agony that his body was suffering.

Slowly, Tim calmed himself enough to lie still on the bed; his chest heaving and his eyes screwed tightly shut. Agony coursed through his shattered leg, but the young man found himself unable to do anything but lie still and quietly sob. Tears leaked from the teenager's eyes as he clenched and unclenched his hands and tried to settle his trembling body.

While the young man battled against the onslaught of pain, the other two persons in the room watched in sick silence. Mic had allowed the hammer to fall to the floor in a dull thud right as the cry broke through Tim's lip, and now he just stared at the small being lying in front of him. Shaking slightly, he turned to look at his partner. They both stared at one another as soft moans of pain, which were valiantly being fought against, filled the cabin.

TBC.

Author's notes part two: If you have seen/read the story "Misery" by Stephen King you will recognize the leg-shattering scene. It is stolen from that piece of work and I have no ties to it. Obviously, alterations have been done to it, but the premise, still, is Mr. King's and no permission was given to use the scene.


	5. Chapter Five

Disclaimer and notes in part one.

Author's Notes: What can I say? I'm sorry, first of all. Real life hit me hard in December and I thought that going back to school would make things better, but really made things worse. So, from there, time just flew as I got things in order and so on. Needless to say, nearly 6 months late I'm back. I hope that people are still around to read this. I take off for Boston in a week and a half, so there will be a hiatus then, but this should be finished before the end of August. This time for real. Anyhow…

Masquerade

Part five

It was worst twenty-four hours that Jack had ever experienced. When his son had been missing during the Gotham Quake, it was a different kind of terror that took hold of him. Then Jack hadn't known where his son was, what he was doing, or if he would ever seen him again. It was the unknowing aspect that caused Jack so much grief. But now, he knew exactly where Tim was. Well, figuratively speaking he did. Tim was in the hands of his bookie more or less. Everything was out of the older man's hands and all he could do was sit and watch as Bruce and his little soldiers looked for clues to his son's whereabouts.

Jack spent the last twenty-four hours feeling guilt consume him. This entire incident was his fault; for once any problems within the family he couldn't attempt to put on Tim's shoulders. He still couldn't get Dana's shocked and hurt face out of his memory. They were both holding on by a thin thread; somehow their love proving stronger than all the secrets that had been hidden between their family. Once this incident was over, Jack was certain he would look at Dana with new eyes. The strength she possessed was simply amazing.

And then there had been her near adoration that Dana exhibited when Jack told her  
about Tim's nightly activities. There was part of the older man that felt bad for spilling his son's secret so easily, but, he knew, it had to be done. He needed Dana now and, afterwards, he knew Tim would need her too. She had responded so well to the news that Robin lived under their house for years that Jack felt his anger seemed misplaced when he spoke with her about all the lies that Tim had told; all the secrets he had kept. Dana smiled, put a hand on his cheek and simply said, "your heart is in the right place, your head simply is not."

Jack hadn't known what to do with that cryptic message so he kissed his wife and they held each other in silence.

Regardless of this precise moment amidst the darkness, Jack didn't feel any better about the current situation. Of course he knew, the Bat-People had to keep a low profile, but didn't he deserve an update? He hadn't heard anything since he left the Manor and was growing more worried by the moment. Gardenee said forty-eight hours and already half of that was gone. Jack knew the stories of Batman and, from what he had also read in Tim's diary, Bruce was good. The best really. And although Jack had no experience of how good his son was as Robin, he'd heard just as many stories about the Boy Wonder of Gotham.

In truth, Jack, since the whole Robin incident, made a special point to ignore anything he heard about Robin or remembered. Some part of his brain worked to tune out Robin information; he didn't want to hear about all the crazies his son faced. But now that his son's well being was in the hands of those he once called friends and mentors, Jack couldn't help but wonder how good his son really was.

What had his son been capable of?

The question swarmed in his mind and he was slowly walking towards his computer just as the phone rang.

Rushing over to it, Jack breathlessly answered. "Hello?"

"I've received no word about my money. Where is it and when will I have it?"

Jack felt his stomach clench once again with innate fear. "I'm working on it," he managed to sputter out.

"Twenty-four hours left. Then the kid is on my turf."

The line went dead.

Jack carefully put the phone back in its cradle and sank to the floor. He wasn't sure how much more he could take. He needed to have his son found. He needed to know he was safe, because if he wasn't, Jack could never forgive himself.

…….

Tim thankfully passed out not long after the brutal assault on his leg. Mic and Hal left after the incident, being unable to handle the young man's weak and painful struggles against the pain. Neither knew the damage that had truly been done and, for the first time, they had doubts. They knew the Mike wouldn't be that upset so long as the kid lived, after all this was business, but neither of the bodyguards were prepared for the impact their actions would have on themselves. Being in the bookie business meant you had to, literally, break a lot of knees, but never had such an attack been done on a mere child. More unnerving however, had been the kid's ability to suppress his pain; more so than most of the grown men they'd hurt even less.

By the time Tim grew fully conscious, he wished he hadn't. There'd been many times in his career as Robin that he felt indescribable pain and wished for nothing more than to fad into oblivion. This, however, topped them all. As soon as Tim's senses came back to him, he was met by sheer agony pulsating in his leg. The teenager's first response was to jerk away in an attempt to get away from the pain. That resulted in a way of nausea as he jerked unforgivably on his leg. Tears, once again, came unbidden to his eyes, but he held them back. He was Robin, the Boy Wonder. Or at least he had been.  
At any rate, he could push the pain away; he could center himself and forget about the searing agony that now was his leg.

Once Tim had the pain under as much control as possible, enough that he could think somewhat straight, the young man realized that he was in terrible trouble. Although, he hadn't watched the attack on his leg, he knew the damage that was done to his kneecap or at least very close to there. Most of the time, due to the intensity of the hit and the shattering of the bone, any sort of damage like his leg was permanent.

Right now, Tim knew he needed help and he needed it now. Shifting as carefully as he could, Tim craned his neck up as much as possible in an attempt to look at his leg. As soon as he had done so, he wished he hadn't. Some point after he passed out, the henchmen removed his jeans leaving him lying in only his boxers and t-shirt. The lack of modesty didn't bother him, but the disfigured, swollen, and mostly bruised leg did.

It was bad. Really bad.

Tim allowed his head to fall back on the bed and he tugged lightly on the bonds that still held his hands. But, there was no strength behind his pulls; his energy having been sapped and, what hadn't been, was quickly leaving him in a haze of pain. Tim felt his breathing start to speed up as the first signs of panic set in. The quickening pulse-rate did nothing to neither calm him nor settle the pain. He was on the verge of a full-fledged panic attack.

Suddenly, as he struggled for air, the door to the room opened. Tim's panic now became full-fledged as he wondered what these men would do to him now.

"What- what are you going to do?" Tim asked, his voice cracking.

Hal simply looked at the prone figure and walked closer to the bed. Tim wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn't removed his eyes from his captor. Without a word, Hal moved to the young boy's injured leg. The man cut the bond and Tim's leg fell slightly to the bed. The young man bit his lip, but a moan of pain still escaped and tears gathered in the corners on his eyes. Hal watched all this as impassively as possible as he cut the other leg's bond. As quickly as he could, the bodyguard left.

Whatever peace Tim had been able to obtain with his leg, was once again shattered.  
With a frustrated and agonizing groan, Tim pulled wildly on the bonds that held his hands. The tears he'd been able to hold back all this time, now rolled freely down his face as the pain and frustration increased. Finally, the young man was exhausted and lapsed into unconsciousness again, with tears still falling on his cheeks.

……

While Tim had the worst last twenty-four hours that he remembered, Bruce and Dick were working with Barbara attempting to track him. Tim's watch had been a dead-end since it was removed from the young man and given to the Drakes as a sign their son was held captive. After that, Bruce worked another aspect; this one more head-on.

As Batman, Bruce had a few dealings with Mike Gardenee and missing persons, but Gardenee had yet to make a real impression on the crime scene in Gotham. In truth, Gardenee was one of the lesser-known bookies that existed in the city. Of course, that didn't mean that he didn't work like the other, more gruesome bookies. The few dealing that Batman had with him found that Gardenee was just a brutal to those who crossed him as the bosses in the heart of Gotham.

It was because of this that Bruce wanted to make certain he found Tim as soon as possible. Over a hundred grand debt to any bookie was obscene and Gardenee said Jack had forty-eight hours, after that it would be a free-for-all. The only problem was that Bruce still had to be Batman, on top of being Wayne, and crime didn't stop for one missing teenager. The last twenty-four hours had produced few results, which didn't surprise Bruce all that much. Gotham was a large city, Gardenee was a cautious man, and Tim was only one small missing kid. Even with Dick and Barbara on the case,  
Bruce knew forty-eight hours would be a rush to find Tim. At least on their own.

Bruce had faith that Tim was working just as hard on his end of things to get home. Of  
course, he also knew that the young man had to keep a low profile and work as Tim Drake not Robin. But still, Tim was effective undercover and, so long as nothing kept him from freedom, Bruce was certain the young man would be freed before the forty-eight hour deadline.

Still, it never hurt to be safe and so Bruce had sent Nightwing on a mission to Mike Gardenee. Although Batman might have been more effective, Bruce knew Dick was protective over Tim and, in the end, that edge would help them get the needed information. Besides, Bruce still had another life to live during the day, as tedious as it was.

"Mr. Wayne, there is a Miss, uh, Bunny on the line for you." Bruce rolled his eyes before hitting the button.

"Ah, I'll get it in here!" The older man sat down in his chair and prepared to dumb himself down for the sake of a secret identity.

…….

Daytime was a very unfamiliar time for the Bat Family when they were in costume. Bruce trained all his protégées to live in shadows and, during the day, that was rather hard. Or, at least, harder. However, Nightwing was able to improvise with the best of them and lurk in the shadows that did exist, however marginal they may be. Besides, this was for a good cause. His little brother was missing.

Much like Bruce, although neither shared their beliefs, Dick knew Tim could take care of himself. It wasn't a lack of confidence that drove Dick to search for Gardenee, but rather, it was the worry that something could happen to Tim. The young man had to keep a low profile and Dick knew Tim embraced his secret identity with a vengeance even if, in reality, Robin was no longer his to keep safe. Regardless, the older man knew Tim would act the appropriate role and, because of this, his chances to get free may dwindle. So, Nightwing was out on the town in order to find his kid brother.

Landing softly on the top Gardenee's penthouse apartment, Nightwing let himself in  
through the window. Dick was pretty certain the bookie would be out at some downtown business building and this was a purely information gathering venture. Nightwing began his searching with the obvious places- computers, desktops, desk drawers- any place that Gardenee might have made a note about his business with the Drakes. The closest that Dick came to finding anything useful, however, was a computer file documenting the money that had been issued to Jack. Although it was informative and Dick felt a stab of pity to the man who thought his problems could be answered in gambling, there was nothing telling him where Tim could be.

While Nightwing was making a copy of the Drake file, the front doors to the apartment opened. Dick resisted the urge to roll his eyes because of having his searching interrupted, removed the disk and carefully positioned himself back out on the ledge. Sparing a glance inside, Nightwing noticed Gardenee had come alone. Smiling, Dick threw up a decel line up to the roof, pulled it tight, and then swung outwards aiming for the window.

The shattering of glass caused Mike to draw his gun as he turned and faced whatever came in through the window. All he could see, though, was a blur of black, and before he knew what happened, Mike was pinned against his desk with a masked face inches form his own.

"Hello, Gardenee." The man holding him said and Mike felt his heart rate increase.

"I need some information from you and I need it now. Where is the Drake kid?"

Gardenee swallowed and stared up into the black mask and white eyes. "I don't know."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Gardenee felt an arm being placed across is throat and his air supply lessen.

"I said, I need this information _now_."

Mike did his best to calm himself down and avoid panicking.

"I don't know." He ground out between his teeth. The hold over his throat left and Mike took a large intake of air. The weight that had been holding him to the desk also left.

Gardenee straightened his suit as he looked up at the costumed being before him. The all black suit with the blue bird-type figure on the front was not from Gotham, but Mike knew enough about the underground superhero world to recognize Nightwing. Instantly, Mike's interest was peaked as to why a Bludhaven vigilant would be concerned about some small time bookie in Gotham and missing kid.

Nightwing crossed his arms in front of him unimpressed with Gardenee, but also aware that he didn't know where Tim was. As a general rule, those in charge of operations like kidnapping for a ransom didn't know where their victim was being held. That way when the police (or a costume superhero) came, they could really play dumb. Of course, that didn't mean that he didn't know _who _knew where Tim was and that was what Nightwing betting on.

"Why do you care about the kid?" Mike asked as the two men faced off.

Nightwing smirked. "I ask the questions here. I want to know where the kid is and, since you don't know, who does?"

Gardenee just shrugged his shoulders. "I make it a point not to know who is in charge of such...dealings. Mister Drake owes me money and I intend to receive my dues."

Nightwing stepped closer to Mike, and poked a finger into the man's chest. "If the kid is hurt, you will receive your dues personally from me."

Gardenee, who had grown more confident without Nightwing sitting on his chest, only stared the vigilant down. "Why do you care so much about Drake's kid? What does he mean to you?"

Dick, outwardly, didn't look phased by Gardenee's words, but inwardly he felt his stomach twist. This man didn't need to know how much Tim meant to him. "I don't even know him, but apparently he means a hell of a lot to Mister Wayne who took care of him as a kid." Okay, so it wasn't the total truth, but neither was it a total lie. "And Mister Wayne has a lot of money and attracts the attention of a lot of well-known people."

"Like yourself?"

"Like _Batman._ Be careful, Gardenee, you're out of your league now."

With that, Nightwing jumped out of the window he'd broken earlier. Whether or not Mike knew information on Tim's whereabouts didn't matter; he wouldn't talk, or rather, couldn't talk about what he didn't know. Dick had learn, through the course of his costumed career, when people would give in and when they wouldn't. Gardenee, although not unafraid of him like many of the crazier criminals, had nothing to lose from talking about the Drake kid, but had everything to gain. Nightwing could have pressed him, and probably harder, but right now that didn't matter. Gardenee knew that Batman was on the case and, hopefully, that would make him slip up.

And when he did, the tracking device and bug Nightwing placed would be ready.

TBC


	6. Chapter Six

Notes and disclaimer in part one.

Author's Notes: I want to say thank you to those you gave feedback for the last part. A writer doesn't write for feedback, but the stuff never hurts so thank you again. Also, I'm glad to see that people still seem to remember this story and are willingly to give it another shot. Like I said before, posting will be better this time and no more months without any word.

Masquerade

Part six

Tim was getting sick of waking up from unconsciousness. Three times in roughly three days was a ratio he didn't like. This time, at least, waking up didn't involve disorientation or searing pain. His leg, although still throbbing horrendously, wasn't as all encompassing as is had been before. A part of Tim's mind knew he was in shock, or at least close to it, and the chill that seemed to be buried in his bones, only further proved this point. But, the other part of Tim's mind, knew that this shock was a good thing because the pain, that had over-taken him twice before, wouldn't be as large of a factor. With that thought in mind, the young man took a deep breath and tug hard on the binds that held his hands hoping they would be looser.

The jarring motion caused to the bed shake and Tim suppressed a moan of pain.

__

Okay, so the pain may be lessened, but certainly not gone, Tim realized and then pulled a bit softer on the binding. He was satisfied to feel them give way a bit. Concentrating solely on his left hand, he twisted until there was enough room to slide his hand out. Although rubbed a bit raw, it was freed and, within seconds, his right hand was free as well. Sitting up, the young man worked on his good leg and, before long, sat in the bed unbound.

Now that he was able to get a close look at his knee, Tim felt sick to his stomach. The leg was swollen nearly twice as large as his good one. It was almost black with bruises and where it was not black, it was colored a grotesque yellow. Knowing it was a bad idea, but having to do it, Tim gently placed his hands on both sides of his knee. He could feel heat radiating from it and, clenching his teeth, Tim prodded softly. A wave of nausea passed over the young man and he quickly removed his hands, falling back on to the bed. Even though the touching was soft, Tim felt particles of bone shift under his hands. Now his knee ached horribly and Tim's mind was clouded with terrible thoughts of being lame forever.

Nearing tears again, the young man balled his hands into fists at his side. Enough was enough! He was not going to lie here feeling sorry for himself while some crazed men sat in another room probably planning some other kind of torture. It was time that he started acting like the Robin he once had been.

With new determination, Tim sat up again, but this time paid his knee no heed. It was messed up, he knew that, but wallowing in the pain would do nothing to help him. He needed to get out and find medical attention. So, Tim looked around the room. Due to his failed attempt at escape from earlier, Tim now knew how close he was to Gotham, although now he doubted he could make it there on his own. He needed another plan, something that would get him help.

__

Something like that cable line, Tim thought with a smile as he spied the thick black cable on the floor leading out of the door. If that cable line connected to a computer, in thirty seconds Tim could send a message to the police.

Tim shook his head. _Or better yet, to Oracle._ _The police could bring unwanted attention and who knows how these guys would react to that._

Scooting forward on the bed, Tim ignored his knee as best he could. He also knew that he had to be able to move if he wanted to make it to wherever that cable began. Not seeing anything of real stability, the young man twisted his body around and hung his good leg off the bed. Steeling himself, Tim placed his weight on it and slowly stood. His bad leg was unforgiving to the movement, but before he could go back, or pass out, Tim slid his leg off the bed. The rush of blood to his shattered knee almost made the young man collapse, but taking deep breaths and remembering every calming technique he'd ever learned, Tim found himself able to stand on his good leg and let his useless appendage hang weightlessly.

__

I can do this. I can. Feeling reassured, Tim bent over and removed the single sheet from the bed. Sitting on the now naked bed, Tim tore the sheet in two and gently wrapped half of it around his knee. Although it was not as tight as he'd like it and would offer very little support, it was better than nothing. The sheet-bandage at least seemed to cut off some blood supply and cause slight numbness. Tim stood and this time, placed some weight on the leg.

__

Whoa, bad idea, Drake! Tim thought as the leg nearly bucked under him. Righting his balance again, the young man looked at the door. He had no idea if the goons were out there, but there was no way he'd be able to accomplish anything just sitting in the room. It was now or never, and all he could do was hope luck would be on his side this time.

What Tim didn't know was, as he slowly made his way towards the door, the forty-eight hours were now up.

……

Jack and Dana sat in their kitchen with a pot of coffee situated in front of them. It had been forty-eight hours. There hadn't been a word from Gardenee yet, but both were certain it was only a matter of time. There also hadn't been word from Bruce. Jack wasn't sure what either of these things meant and if they were at all related. Jack prayed that no word from Bruce meant he had a trail and was in the process of saving his son.

When the phone rang, Jack nearly jumped out of his skin and rushed to the phone.

"Hello?"

__

Please let it be Bruce!

"I was patient and now your son's time is up."

The line went dead.

Jack wasn't even aware that he had fallen to the ground until he felt Dana sit next to him. With tears in his eyes he looked up to hers. "I failed him, Dana. I failed my son." The young woman pulled her husband into her arms as he began to weep.

"I killed him. It's all my fault. I should have gone to the police, and not Bruce. He obviously doesn't care enough. "

Dana pushed Jack away from her, changing from the comforter to attacker in an instant. "Don't you dare blame Bruce for this," she scolded as tears ran down her cheeks. "Don't you dare do that! I am certain Bruce has been investing as much time and effort into this as if Tim was his own son. Don't you try to blame anyone for this other than yourself, Jack Drake!" With that, Dana stood and ran away from her husband. Jack watched her go and then laid his head down on the cool kitchen floor.

He had killed his son.

…….

Although Jack assumed Bruce cared little for his son and hadn't done the proper investigating, the opposite was true. Bruce, and Batman, had worked diligently over the past forty-eight hours, and if Bruce couldn't work, then either Dick or Barbara or both were covering all possibly leads. There had been no word and no amount of scourging had done any good. Tim disappeared someplace that even the Bat Family couldn't find in two days.

Nightwing's hope that Gardenee would give something away fell through also for the man hadn't returned back to his home and simply disappeared like Tim. Not even Batgirl had been able to find the man again. Obviously, the interaction with Nightwing caused Gardenee enough worry to play it smart and not show his face.

Now, it seemed, everything was up to Tim. Mistakes had been made which, in the end, left the young man alone. He would have to save himself. Little did anyone realize, not even Tim could fulfill that order now.

TBC…

Yup, like I said: a tiny post. The next part will be the climax so to speak so get ready for some fun. Well, Tim might not think it's fun, but hey, he doesn't have much say right now :-)


	7. Chapter Seven

Notes and disclaimer in part one.

Author's Notes: Okay, no one is gonna like where this ends, I understand that. However, the next part needs some re-work and I don't have the time (or energy really) for that right now with my travel stuff. So, you get another smaller post (sorry!) before I head to Bean Town. Then I'll be back (Sunday) and edit and add etc to the next part of the story and begin posting that section. Thanks for the reviews guys- they all mean more than I can say.

Masquerade

Part Seven

After what felt like an eternity, Tim finally made his way across the room and leaned heavily on the bedroom door. Sheen of sweat coated his face and arms, and with each hobbling step the young man's leg shook dangerously, but he had finally reached the entrance to the main living room. Placing his ear to the door, he listened carefully almost fell over with joy when he heard no noise from the other side. Placing his hand on the knob he turned it and peaked his head around the corner. Tim surveyed the room and was beyond happy to see it empty. Moving out of the accursed bedroom, the young man looked down and found the black cable leading into the only other room in the cabin. Steeling himself for another arduous walk, Tim took a breath and moved forward.

It was, indeed, another long journey to the adjacent room but Tim made it. The teenager swung the door open and released a sigh of relief. There, sitting in the corner, was a Macintosh computer. Never had Tim been happier to see that particular modern marvel.

Moving quicker than he had since getting up from the bed, Tim sat in front of the computer. The haze of pain from his leg was far from his mind, as he opened the Internet. It was a long shot, but Tim opened his Hotmail account.

__

Oh, please be neurotic about e-mail, Barbara, he thought as he sent the brief e-mail to Oracle's slightly lesser known, and less secure, address at He knew it was risky, that Babs might not check that e-mail account, but it was the best he could do without having any sense of the security on the computer. The last thing he needed was for these goons to be able to find a way into the secure addresses of the Batfamily. _Better safe than sorry, _Tim thought as he hit send.

Opening another e-mail Tim types out the same brief message he'd sent to Babs, this time to a rgraysonbludpd.gov. Like Barbara, the e-mail wouldn't be marked as top priority, but it was the best Tim could do.

It was just as Tim got ready to hit the send button that the front door to the cabin was opened and Tim's two bodyguards entered. The young man jerked his head towards the door which, from his place in the room, he could see perfectly. As could Mic and Hal. All three stared at each other in shock. Tim was the first to re-gain his composer and he pushed himself away from the computer. He rose, shakily, to his one leg and stared at the open door that separated him from these two men. He _had_ to get that shut to stand a chance.

However, the two men also broke out of their surprised stupor.

"What the hell are you doing?" Hal yelled as he ran towards Tim. The young man continued to move at the door, but the cabin was small and Hal covered the ground to the room faster than Tim did. Hal reached Tim just as the teenager reached the door. The larger man grabbed the young man by his shirt and pulled him from the room. Tim felt a wave of dizziness pass through him as he was literally ripped off his feet and flung into the main room of the cabin. Unable to stop the forward momentum, Tim hit the ground, his right shoulder first. He attempted to keep his legs from connecting with the ground, but it was futile attempt and soon the teenager's injured leg hit the hardwood surface. The jarring caused Tim to lose orientation and his head spun dangerously once again. By the time the young man remembered the two other men it was too late.

Mic got to the teenager first and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. Tim was hustled to his feet by the bigger man and, in his rather pain-laden state of mind, there wasn't much the young man could do. Tim hung weakly in the grip, tired and battered, but then suddenly noticed that he was being dragged into the bedroom.

The teenager began to twist against the hold Mic had although his fight was more of a uncontrolled; blind attack that the bigger man could easily avoid. Before Tim could process it, he found himself restrained on the bed by Mic and Hal's arms, even though he hadn't ceased his struggling. Mic took things into his own hands and, with one quick movement, grabbed tightly onto Tim's shattered knee. Whatever ability Tim had before to ignore the pain left him and his struggling stopped as he bit into his lip at the agony.

Hal and Mic, satisfied that the teenager's fight had left him, released Tim and stood back. They had been given the order by Mike to finish Drake's kid and now was the time.

"Grab the piece and let's finish this."

Tim watched as Hal left the room and found himself knowing the end was here. He was going to die at sixteen in some half rundown cabin outside of Gotham. For years, he had thought he would die in costume- in battle- and as Robin. Tim Drake wasn't suppose to die. Not now and not like this.

The young man kicked outwards towards Mic with his good leg. The hit, completely unexpected, caused the larger man to stumble away. Tim sat up in the bed and moved to his good leg. He didn't allow Mic a moment to recover and threw his patented left hook at the man's face. It solidly connected and the man fell to the ground dazed. Tim gave the man one more hit and Mic fell unconscious.

The adrenaline now coursing, Tim moved towards the main room. He wasn't sure what his plan was, but that didn't stop him. He would _not_ allow himself to be a victim to these men anymore. The knee injury meant nothing to him now and was only a memory. Just as Tim moved into the main room, Hal returned from outside with a gun in hand. The young man watched carefully as Hal raised the gun and aimed it at him. The trigger was pulled and Tim instinctively ducked and felt the bullet graze past his shoulder.

"Why can't you just die!" Hal yelled as he watched Tim move away from the bullet. This kid just wouldn't give up! Enough, though, was enough. Hal raised the gun and pulled the trigger just as the young man looked back at him. In a spilt second, Tim did the only thing he could do to avoid the bullet that was to dive behind the small sofa.

…….

Barbara Gordon was as neurotic as they came. Since becoming Oracle the neuroses only seemed to increase. Having the largest mainframe of anyone in the world made Barbara a bit obsessive about a little thing called e-mail. She hardly ever (regularly that was) used the Oracle system for her own leisure save for one thing. There was a small program that checked her e-mail accounts every five minutes regardless of what address they were at. It gave her some joy to know that anything someone sent her would be seen within five minutes of being sent. Little did she know that it would come in so handy.

Barbara was taking a break from the searching for Tim to prepare a cup of hot chocolate when the beep alerted her to a new mail. Smiling as she always did when she got a new mail, Babs rolled over to her computer. Opening up the Hotmail program she could barely believe what she was seeing.

"Five miles outside Gotham. Off of I-98. Cabin with green door."

The address was Tim's and clearly the message was important. Not wasting a second, Barbara contacted Bruce.

"I think I've found Tim. He sent an e-mail to me through Hotmail. I'm forwarding the message to you and Dick now."

Bruce, who was sitting in the Bat Cave, waited for the message to pop on his screen. From the time that the e-mail was sent, to Batman and Nightwing's departure towards the address, less then five minutes had passed. It would take the duo another five minutes at breakneck speeds to reach the cabin. Ten minutes was all the Tim had to survive before help came to him. The young man's survival had become a race against time; mere minutes dictating life and death.

…….

Hal watched Tim's disappear behind the couch. Lowering the gun slightly, the large man moved and peered around the couch. He was content to see the kid laying face down with his hand clenched in a fist. Obviously, the immense strength Tim had possessed was gone and left him utterly drained. Hal moved close and nudged the toe of his boot into Tim's side and none-too-gently pushed to flip Tim over. Although the teenager appear physically out of fight, his eyes still told the older man that, if possible, he would already have pummeled him to the ground. There was something about this Drake kid that screamed strength and it wasn't only his ability to somehow withstand unimaginable pain. It was something within his aura. This kid was different.

But, none of that mattered now. He was also dead. Hal re-raised the gun.

…….

Tim knew he had nothing left. The dodge had cost him all the strength he possessed and all he could do was laying gasping on the ground as the larger man came around to put a bullet in his brain. In the end, though, the young man knew that he had given it all that he could; he had fought and that, well, hopefully that would make his dad and even Bruce proud. Hal, after kicking the lad over, stepped back and stood over Tim. The teenager looked up into the larger man's eyes without a trace of fear. Even if Tim couldn't move, he could still let his captor know how badly he wanted to fight. Tim stared up at Hal and, for the first time in a long while, he felt like Robin.

As he watched the gun level between his eyes, only one thought passed through Tim's mind:

__

I never can tell my father that I'm sorry.

The shot echoed in the same cabin.

TBC…

Ouch, I know. Sorry! I'll be back in only a few days. Take that to heart, okay :-) Goooood.


	8. Chapter Eight

Notes and disclaimer in part one.

Author's Notes: As a warning, the postings may be a tad slower just because I've reached the part of the story that has a few places I want to work through. What can I say, working to tie up lose ends can be tedious. Also, this is the end of part one (Harder to Breathe) and the next series of postings till the end are going to take place in part two (What Remains).

Here ya go…

Masquerade

Part eight

Everything within the small cabin happened in a blur of movement and sound.

Tim closed his eyes as the hammer fell on the gun and waited for the inevitable pain to consume him. What he got, however, was utterly unexpected.

As the sound of the gunshot echoed in the cabin, another although different, but just as loud, sound reverberating throughout the room. Both Tim and Hal jumped as splintered wood exploded inwards spraying the cabin and its occupants. Hal turned his attention away from the prone teenager and barely had a moment to register another being in the room before a black body slammed into him. Hal felt his legs fly out from under him and his back slam on the ground. Instinct took over, and the larger man attempted to raise his gun in protection, but the weapon was swiftly kicked out of his hand. The next thing Hal saw was a black glove careening towards his face and then darkness claimed him.

Looking down at the unconscious man, Nightwing resisted the urge to try and locate Tim. Dick had to make sure all threats were first taken care of and allow Batman the privilege of dealing with the younger man. Tying Hal up, Nightwing moved into the adjacent bedroom and gave a contented smile as he noticed another goon unconscious.

__

Atta boy, Tim. Dick secured the other man and stepped back into the main cabin. He slowly moved to examine the scene before him.

Tim laid on the ground with Batman crouched next to him. The Dark Knight looking like nothing more than a black shadow as his cape fell over his body and swirled like liquid on the ground. Nightwing stepped closer mentally berating himself for not noticing Tim earlier when he had flown in through the exploded window. Then again, Dick realized, after the smoke had cleared enough for Nightwing to move inside, the first thing that had caught his eye was the larger henchman standing with a gun in hand.

Suddenly, as if someone had punch him in the stomach, Dick felt all breathe leave his body. The scene of Hal standing by the window with gun in hand replayed in Nightwing's mind and he realized that the larger man had been aiming at Tim. Mentally praying, Dick moved closer to Batman and hoped with every ounce of his being, that he had been in time to stop any sort of damage to Tim.

Something deep inside of Dick, however, warned him that he hadn't been in time.

…….

Tim felt his eyes instinctively close and arms move to cover his face as the explosion shook the small cabin. Even as he was protecting himself, Tim had to smile. _The cavalry has arrived_, he thought as a blur of black flew next to him and connected solidly with Hal. The young man watched as Nightwing tackled the larger man to the ground. His attention did not stay long on Dick, though, for another presence entered through the now useless window. Tim looked up into the intimidating cowl of Batman.

The teenager opened his mouth to speak, but as he drew in breathe a sudden wave of fire twisted its way into Tim's stomach. The young man gasped loudly and felt his heart begin to beat erratically. The agony only intensified and Tim felt darkness close in on him. Fighting the urge to close his eyes, the young man looked up again into the starlit lens of Bruce and noticed the man was now crouched next to him.

"You've been shot." It was a point-blank statement of fact and Tim felt a small feeling of warmth spread in him. Bruce, for all intensive purposes, was a man of business and it was somehow a strange comfort to realize some things never changed.

The comfort, however, passed quickly, as Batman placed pressure over the bullet wound. Tim gritted his teeth against the increase of pain that flowed through his body.

"Where?" He managed to spit out through his clenched jaw.

Bruce looked up and over his shoulder and Tim wondered briefly if he had asked the question out loud.

"Lower abdomen," Batman answered as he turned his head back to the prone teenager. Tim opened his mouth to speak again, to ask how bad it was, when Nightwing moved into his vision, having come over after making eye contact with Bruce. Dick paid no attention to Batman's work and instead shared a large smile with Tim.

"Hey kiddo, nice work in the bedroom."

Tim weakly smiled suddenly grateful for Dick's attempts to take his attention away from the havoc being wrecked on his body. "Thanks," the teenager said and opened his mouth to add more, but Dick placed a gloved gauntlet on the younger man's face.

"Don't talk," Nightwing said and spared a look at Bruce, who was working to staunch the bleeding from Tim's wound. Dick felt bile rise in his throat as he watched the young man's blood flow out of him like water while he was powerless to stop it. Nightwing, and even Dick Grayson, had seen plenty of gunshot wounds in his life, but he swore that he'd never seen one bleed as badly as this one.

"Dick?" Came the hushed voice of Tim, which stole Nightwing's attention from Bruce's work.

"Yeah?" Nightwing asked not even abiding by his own suggestion that Tim not speak.

The teenager swallowed and his eyelids dropped dangerously close to closing. The pain that only moments ago riddled his body now seemed very far away. The teenager felt his mind fill with a hazy whiteness and struggled to get his sentence out. "Tell my dad I love him."

Then Tim took a deep breath, looked once more with unrelenting clarity into Dick's mask, and fell unconscious.

"Tim?" Nightwing gently slapped the young man's face. "Tim?" There was no response.

Dick looked back at Bruce. The older man did not look up from the wound he was desperately working on. There was only so much that Bruce could do right here and now. He needed better medical aid; he needed better equipment. He needed the Bat Cave. Looking up and meeting Nightwing's eyes, he said, "We have to move him now."

A calmness came over Dick that he'd experienced many times before in deadly circumstances. He had a job to do now and that job was to save his little brother's life. Nodding to Bruce, Dick stood and made his way out towards the Batmobile trusting that the two goons inside were contained and that Bruce could handle Tim.

As Nightwing moved to prepare the Batmobile for Tim, he activated his comm-link and instantly heard Barbara voice.

"What happened?" She asked with worry painting her voice.

Dick looked over his shoulder as Batman carried Tim's prone and bleeding form from the cabin. "We found Tim. He's hurt pretty badly and we're taking him to the Cave for medical treatment." Dick stepped aside and waited as Bruce lowered Tim into the passenger's side of the Batmobile. "I'll update you on the status once we're back at the Cave. Call Alfred and tell him to be ready for a GSW to the lower abdomen." Nightwing disconnected the link content to know that Barbara would do the work that needed to be done and also knowing that currently he wasn't up to answering any questions.

Batman moved to the driver's side and, as he lowered himself in, spoke to Dick.

"Meet us at the Cave." It was a rather idiotic thing for Bruce to say Dick thought to himself as he watched the Batmobile tear off towards the Bat Cave. Of course he'd come to stay by his little brother's side! Nightwing looked back into the cabin and thought it was strangely quiet now and it didn't seem that all the drama, which just occurred, could have happened in such seemingly peaceful place. Shaking his head, Dick placed the call into the Gotham Police about the men and then mounted the bike he'd taken out to the cabin.

To Dick, the trip back to the Bat Cave never seemed so long.

……

Jack hadn't moved from the floor when the phone rang again. He didn't have the energy to move and didn't want to listen to Gardenee brag about killing his son. So, he stayed on the floor and allowed Dana to answer it. A few minutes later, he heard her come running down the stairs. She slid on her knees in front of her husband grabbing him by the shoulders.

"They found him." She said as tears began to run down her face. "Bruce has Tim at his home and they're taking care of him." The anger from earlier was forgotten and Dana grabbed her husband in a hug. Although Tim wasn't her child, the love she felt for him was no less than any biological parent would have felt. And the relief at knowing that he was safe, knowing that he had been saved from death, was also just as strong. Jack could only hold his wife and cried along with her. _His son was alive. _It was an unimaginable thought for him to process. He'd all but buried his son after Gardenee called, but now… _Timothy is alive! _Jack's mind could process nothing more than that simple thought and he buried his face into Dana's shoulder, muttering: "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

To whom he was uttering the apology, however, he truly didn't know.

……

The Batmobile came to a screeching halt inside the Cave. Alfred had received the call from Barbara and prepared everything that was necessary for a gun shot wound, complete with placing in a call to Doctor Tompkins who, unfortunately, was out of town. As he waited, the butler couldn't help but hate the fact that he _did _ know how to prepare himself and the Cave for such a terrible incident. During all his long years, Alfred patched more bullet holes then he cared to consider. He'd also seen his children come near death just as often. It was enough to make even the most resilient man exhausted.

And right now, Alfred was running low on energy.

As the Car opened up, Bruce flowed out with the cap trailing behind him. Moving quickly, he reached the other side and picked Tim gently up from the passenger side. Alfred watched Bruce move the teenager over to the prepared gurney and felt a sadness well up inside him. These people were his children.

And one was dying.

Shaking his head, the Englishman moved in step behind Bruce just as he heard the familiar roar of Dick's motorcycle. Nightwing jogged quickly to Batman and Alfred's side, though he remained slightly off to the side content to allow the older men work on Tim. It was as Dick stood watching his mentors work that his eyes fell on Tim's leg. Dick made a move forward in an attempt to understand why a white bed sheet was tied around the young boy's leg, when Bruce's voice stopped him.

"I saw that earlier, but it must be ignored for now."

Before Dick could say anything further, Alfred's voice stole his attention. "Grab some more gauze, please, Master Richard." The younger man obeyed the request and moved to help. Placing all gruesome thoughts of Tim's battered leg from his mind, Dick concentrated on the more important matter of the gunshot.

…….

In theory, the steps of keeping Tim alive were very basic. Remove the bullet, clean the wound, seal the wound and keep the wound clean to keep infection out. But, in reality, they were terribly difficult to do properly. Bruce and Alfred were as trained in the medical arts as most doctors and Dick knew he had more experience and training than the average person, but even with that, there was only so much they could do. Only so much loss of blood they could stop.

By the time they had the bullet removed and were working on securing the wound, Tim's coloring was sheet white. To Dick, he looked like the dead, as tacky of a comparison and it seemed. By the time the wound was closed, the three occupants could only sit back and stare at the teenager. They had done all that they currently could do and, actually, things had gone better than expected. Things had now turned into a waiting game once more. The three men all stood silently over Tim as if by merely watching him, the teenager would wake up and all would be well.

Knowing a watched pot never boiled, Alfred was the first to move away from the bedside of the young man, and gently began to pick up the bloody clothes and cloths that laid on the ground. It was disturbing work, but the butler did it without complainant. Once the bloody pieces from the floor were discarded, Alfred moved back to Tim's bed and laid soft blanket over the prone figure. As he was doing so, the butler spied a simple white sheet tied around Tim's leg that Dick had noticed earlier. Knowing there was nothing more they could do for the shooting wound, the butler decided to see what the sheet hid.

Removing it gentle, Alfred discovered the young man's left leg was one giant bruise that was a variety of colors ranging from red to yellow and then blue so deep it was nearly black. The Englishman looked closely at the injury and knew some sort of blunt object could only cause something of this magnitude.

Alfred turned to look at Bruce, who was staring at read-outs, and spoke. "Do you know what happen?" He questioned and watched the younger man look up and directly at Tim's leg.

"From the damage it looks like there was massive trauma done to it by something along the lines of a bat-"

"Or a hammer," Dick interrupted. Alfred and Bruce both turned to the younger man for something in his voice grabbed their attention. Dick, starring blankly at a wall, spoke without looking at either man. "There was a hammer in the bedroom where the other guy was. Like a smaller sledgehammer. I…I didn't think anything of it at the time." Now, younger man caught Bruce's gaze. "That had to be what did that."

Bruce looked back at Tim, but said nothing.

"Who would do such a thing?" Alfred questioned rhetorically.

No one in the Cave could offer an answer.

To Be Continued in Part Two: What Remains


	9. Chapter Nine

Author's Notes: See part one for full disclaimer and whatnot. Part Two picks up directly from where Part One left off. Also, there are a lot of conversations in this part that work to tied up lose ends because, well, some times you've just gotta get things off your chest. ;-) What this means, though, is there will be a lot of round-about stuff going on to while the characters sort things out. The "action" aspect of this tale is over, but now's time for the "angst" and "healing" portion. Hope y'all enjoy it as it comes.

Enjoy!

Masquerade

Chapter Nine

Part Two: What Remains

"In the clearing stands a boxer

And a fighter by his trade.

And he carries the reminders

Of ev'ry glove that layed him down,

Or cut him till he cried out

In his anger and his shame:

'I am leaving, I am leaving,'

But the fighter still remains.

Yes, it still remains."

-Simon and Garfunkle

Jack Drake ran into the Manor not even caring that he left Dana in the car. He had to see his son. He had to see that Timothy was okay. Racing to the clock, he opened the door to the Cave not even pausing to think how odd it was that he was running down into the Batman's home. Jack took the stairs two at a time, finally pausing at the bottom to look frantically around. Last time he was here, he'd barely moved past the stairs and now he was struck with how vast this hidden Cave truly was. As Jack made the decision to take off to the right, Alfred appeared.

"Mister Drake," he greeted.

"Where's Tim?" Jack asked moving closer to the butler.

Alfred, if he was truly honest with himself, had never cared much for Jack Drake feeling the man thought too often with his head instead of his heart, especially in regards to his son. The Englishman knew that, much like Bruce with any of his 'children', Jack only looked to protect Timothy. Sometimes that protection came in the form of being an over-bearing guardian, something that Alfred knew Tim loathed. Yet, Alfred pushed those thoughts aside for none of that mattered now. Jack was Tim's father and his son was here.

The butler extended a hand in the general direction of the sickbay. "Your son is in the back with Master Bruce and Master Richard."

Jack took only a single step before Alfred's voice grabbed his attention once more.

"You must know something first." The butler waited till he had Jack's undivided attention. This was the moment he'd dreaded since knowing Mister Drake was on his way over. Alfred knew the news would not be taken well. "Master Timothy has sustained some grievous wounds."

Jack felt his heart skip a beat. "What happened?" He asked, fearing the answer.

"There has been serious damage done to his leg with, what we believe, was a hammer." A part of Alfred was amazed that he was able to state that fact about the young man so easily when it was so terrible. He continued, "Timothy also received a gun shot wound to his abdomen. The bullet has been removed and Timothy is stable, but the young sir is still unconscious and not completely out of danger."

Jack felt himself go numb as he listened to Alfred's words. Certain words broke though the man's clouded mind: _A hammer. Gun shot wound. Danger. _It was as if Jack's world had collapsed in on him again. When the call came that his son was in Bruce's company and care, he assumed everything was fine. How foolish could he have been?

Jack looked at the butler, "Take me to him."

Alfred nodded and led the man back to his son.

The first thought that came to Jack's mind when he entered the sick bay was how pale Tim looked. The teenager was almost as white as the sheets he laid upon. Jack didn't even register that both Bruce and Dick were seated nearby watching their young charge. The older man moved to his son's side and grabbed Tim's hands between his own.

"Timothy?" He asked softly as he stroked the young man's hand. "I'm here for you, son."

Dick watched the scene and couldn't help but feel pity for Tim's father. The man had to be overcome with guilt. Well, Dick at least _hoped_ the man was feeling guilty, as cruel as that thought was. For his own part, from the moment he had seen Tim's prone body on the ground and the blood seeping out of the boy, Dick felt guilt gnawing at him. _I should have pressed Gardenee more, _was all he could think and, deep inside, he knew that was a minor aspect within the larger part that Jack Drake had been.

Bruce, too, looked over at the father and son. The anger he'd felt towards Jack had not dissipated any; in fact, it had grown stronger as he worked on Tim's life threatening wounds. Jack had kept his problems with gambling a secret even as it grew to epic proportions. In the end, because of Jack's idiocy and stubborn pride, Tim was kidnapped, beaten, and shot.

Standing from his seat, Bruce approached the bed. Jack looked up and was taken aback to see Batman standing before him sans cowl. It was almost a more terrifying image than Batman in his whole costume. Here it as if two worlds violently collided; there was Batman with Bruce Wayne's face. It suddenly made Jack painfully aware of the fact that these vigilantes were somehow normal people by day and that his son had been like them.

Shaking his head, Jack cleared his thoughts. "How is he?"

"Still in critical condition. The gunshot wound caused Tim to lose a lot of blood that could leave some permanent damage. His leg was shattered and we haven't dealt with it yet because we didn't want to inflict any more trauma on his body." The man paused for a moment, thinking over his next statement and whether or not he should speak it. Finally, Bruce decided Tim's father not only had a right to now, but also needed to know. "There is a chance that Timothy could not wake up due to the blood loss. Also, because of the location of the gunshot, infection is a grave possibility. His leg may never heal properly either and become lame."

Jack listened to the words come out of Bruce's mouth in a callous tone and felt his temper rise. This man was speaking as if Tim was just some body that he'd found on the street. After Tim's secret identity had been discovered the young man talked endlessly to his father about how Bruce was really a good and caring man. _His almost like a father to me_, his son had exclaimed during one of their more hurtful conversations. Right now, though, Jack saw neither of these traits and certainly not a father-like persona. Bruce was suppose to love his son and care for him. Bruce was suppose to be the father Jack hadn't been.

Bruce was suppose to protect Timothy, even from Jack himself.

"How can you talk about him like that?" The older man questioned angrily. "Like he's just a sack of meat."

Bruce felt his temper spike dangerously and opened his mouth to speak, but he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to look into the blue eyes of Dick. The younger man shook his head and squeezed Bruce's shoulders. The message was passed without a single word.

Stay in control.

Bruce took a calming breath and, though he kept his voice level, he still narrowed his eyes. "I was telling you where things stood."

"You were talking about Tim like he's a stranger! You don't even know my son! How dare you-"

Bruce cut in. "No, Jack, how _dare_ you!" The pressure from Dick's hand intensified, but Bruce hardly noticed. "You pretend to know your son, pretend to know what's best for him, and come here thinking that _I'm_ the one who doesn't know Tim." The man stepped forward, closer to Jack. "You haven't been in your son's life for the past sixteen years and now try to act like you're the perfect father." Bruce shook his head. "You know _nothing_," he finally spat. To lose control like that was not in his nature, but things in regard to Jack Drake and Tim had been on thin ice lately and, finally it appeared, as if Bruce had been pushed too far. Knowing he shouldn't engaged in a verbal war, Bruce turned and began to walk away.

"No!" Jack cried and jumped in front of Bruce's retreating form. "You think you're so much better than me; such a better _father_ to Tim. You aren't, you know that." Jack pointed a finger at Bruce and the younger man was suddenly reminded of an event that took place two months ago with a furious Jack Drake and a gun. This time, however, Bruce felt his own temper rising. Jack continued his tirade, "I've read what my son wrote about you. I know how you gave away his secret. I know about the betrayal. You know, Timothy worshipped you and all you ever did was show disappointment in him. You _hurt _him constantly."

Bruce felt the hand of Dick fall from his shoulder and without that lifeline he plunged into the war. "What about you, Jack? Do you think you're the perfect father? Tim became Robin because you weren't there for him. He wanted nothing from you and you gave him just that. You believed your own son was a delinquent to the point of sending him away and searching his room. All you ever did was believe your son was on the wrong side of everything. It never occurred to you that Tim was a bright, talent young man who only sought your love and attention."

Jack stood still for a moment, seeming to absorb Bruce's words. Then the older man shook his head as if physically denying all that had been said. "I dealt with Tim like any father would have. He was falling apart in front of my eyes." He paused and reiterated, "I did what any caring father would have done."

"No, Jack, you did what a father who didn't trust his son does. You were never there for him and then, when you wanted to be, he didn't want you. But you couldn't accept that. You couldn't understand why, suddenly, Tim didn't want to be your son." Bruce leaned over and stood inches from Jack's face. "It's because you were never really a father to him and Tim couldn't change that image in his mind. He rejected you because you had rejected him first."

The older man's mouth dropped open and found himself speechless. Bruce's words cut through every insecurity and worry he'd ever possessed in regards to his son. It was as if the younger man was reading the deepest and darkest thoughts of Jack's mind.

"Jack?" A voice from behind everyone spoke out uncertainly. All men looked and saw Dana standing with her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Tears shone in her eyes as she looked at Tim lying in the bed. "How is he?" She asked, fearfully.

Jack looked at his son and then back at Dana. "He was shot," he answered softly.

Dana took a quick intake of air and moved to Tim's side in much the same manner Jack had done before. She grabbed his hand and laid her forehand to the pale appendage softly crying. Bruce and Jack watched her in silence and both felt shame rise in them at their words said early. Jack turned around and faced Bruce once more.

"I'm going to go sit with my wife and my son now." He whispered and moved away before Bruce could say anything. Bruce watched the older man go knowing that their conversation had not ended there. Dick moved back beside Bruce and put a hand back on his father's shoulder.

Bruce sighed almost inaudibly.

"I know," Dick said and gently shook his head. "I know."

TBC…


	10. Chapter Ten

Disclaimer and notes in part one.

Masquerade

Part Ten

The next few hours were some of the tensest the Cave had ever seen which, to Dick, was saying a lot after everything that had happened under Wayne Manor. The Drakes stayed by their son's side, never talking, but never breaking contact with the young man. Bruce stood a respectful distance apart carefully monitoring Tim's vitals. It was a delicate time for Tim's body and any problems that may occur had to be dealt with instantly. Alfred kept himself busy with dusting, something Dick found entertaining since the Cave never honestly had dust. Dick also felt that Tim would appreciate the butler's neurotic behavior and so found it fitting. Dick, who felt rather useless in comparison to Bruce and Alfred, sat at the Bat Computer, a safe distance away from the sick bay room.

He'd called Barbara to let her know about Tim's situation and, after that call, found himself searching for all articles pertaining to Mike Gardenee. The man had landed himself into a heap of trouble now and Dick wanted revenge. The vigilant felt guilt still grow within him and his neglect to follow through better with Gardenee. If he had done a better job there was a chance Tim wouldn't be in the position he was now. However, one of the things, Dick had truly learned from Bruce was not to let guilt consume you. This he had learned through watching Bruce allow guilt to consume him, of course.

Every time Bruce felt responsible for someone's injury or death, Dick saw it eat him alive and witnessed some of Batman's worst hours. And so, due to this, Dick allowed the guilt to be pushed aside and focused on bringing Gardenee to justice. Once that was finished, _then_ he would think long and hard about his shortcomings.

The problem with Gardenee was that the man was really a nobody in the crime world and so very few connections, or at least connections Dick felt were reliable, came through during his searching. Mike would have to be found the old fashion way: through stakeouts. Stakeouts were something Dick dreaded because often they were utterly boring when one didn't have any sort of tip and, with Gardenee, Dick had no tips. He would have to sit and watch Mike's apartment and hope the man was foolish enough to come home to the same place. One nice thing about dealing with small criminal was that they usually were quite foolish.

Leaving his searches open so Bruce knew what he was doing, Dick grabbed his Nightwing mask and left the Cave on one of the spare bikes.

It was time for Mike to gets his dues.

…….

Mike Gardenee, assuming the Drake kid had been taken care of, felt a weight lifted off his shoulder. Every time things got dirty with clients, Mike laid-low for a few days till he knew the police weren't going to be on his case. So far, Gardenee hadn't had any troubles with those families that he didn't get the money from. Usually the desperate family member found any way possible to pay Mike back before the deadline. Sometimes, of course, they didn't and Gardenee took care of them like with the Drakes. After that, he never heard from them again and, no doubt, those unlucky few simply fell into some sort of depression.

Mike didn't care what happened to those involved with him, all he wanted was his money and if he didn't get that, then he wanted to make people suffer. So, he did just that. Jack Drake didn't follow the rules and the price was paid. Business was business after all. The kid of Drake's was merely a pawn in Mike's business ventures. Now it was time to put Jack behind him and move forward to his next client.

Gardenee stepped into his pent house apartment and smiled. _It was good to be home. _After his run in with Nightwing, Mike stationed men outside his home to be safe. Obviously, the Drake kid had friends in high places and, for once, it would pay to be a little more cautious. In another two days, Gardenee knew everything would blow over as Drakes moved out of town and the millionaire Wayne got bored hunting for a dead teenager. Until then, though, the men would stay and Mike would just remain in his home to be safe.

The thing that Mike hadn't counted on was the Bat Family rule. A few paid bodyguards, though considered effective to Gardenee, were nothing for the prowess of an angry Nightwing. By the time Gardenee entered his apartment, Nightwing was the only things waiting for him.

Mike switched on his lamp and headed towards his desk. Time was money and he needed to get back to work. There were outstanding loans that had to be recovered. As he looked over the messages sitting on his desk, Gardenee heard someone step behind him.

"Is the Drake kid taken care of?" He asked assuming Mic or Hal had returned. Mike turned and found himself staring into a large, black chest, with a small blue symbol located on it that he had seen only days before in much the same manner.

"He's being taken care of now." Nightwing grabbed the man by his lapels and hoisted him off the ground.

Gardenee looked up into the starlit eyes and knew something had gone wrong. He balled his hands into a fist and pounded on Nightwing's shoulder causing the vigilant to loosen his hold enough for Gardenee to twist out of his jacket. As soon as Mike felt his feet gain purchase on the ground, he turned and ran. Dick watched him for a moment before pulling out a bola and successfully trapping Gardenee's feet. The man hit the ground with a satisfying smack.

Nightwing moved over to Mike and flipped the man over. "Please don't kill me," he begged.

Dick wanted nothing more than to give this man no less then what Tim was given, but he held back. It would do no good to go over the edge. Instead, Nightwing bent close to the man and whispered, "I'm not going to kill you."

Mike sighed in relief.

"But I am going to make you pay." Nightwing finished and Gardenee barely had time to process the thought before a fist connected with his face. It wasn't strong enough to knock him out, but Gardenee felt his head swim.

"What do you want with me?" He questioned as he saw Nightwing reel back his arm for another punch.

"I want you to go to jail. I want you off the streets. I want you to stop killing people." Dick watched as Mike closed his eyes awaiting the punch. There was a satisfaction that Nightwing knew he shouldn't be getting form watching this man suffer, but he didn't care. He was angry now- angry at himself, angry at this man. He wanted - _needed _- to make this man pay for what he did to Tim.

Before he was even aware of it, Dick's fist connected once again with Mike's face. The man whimpered and licked his bleeding lip.

"I'll…I'll do anything. _Please_."

Nightwing looked at the man and felt shame rise in him. _This was wrong. _The vigilant dropped his hold on Gardenee and the man fell to the ground. Dick rubbed a hand over his face being mindful of the blood that had speckled on his glove. With a sigh, Nightwing stood and walked to Mike's desk.

Twenty minutes later, a slightly bruised though still conscious Mike Gardenee was dropped in front of the Gotham Police station with a bat-a-rang tied to him and a signed confession of his crimes.

……

Dana Drake was nearly at her wits' end. Too much had happened in the last three days with the family that she had grown to love. Too many secrets had been dumped on her lap and coping with them was proving more difficult than she thought. As she sat at Tim's side, holding the young man's hand, she couldn't help but wonder how her life had come to this. Of course she loved Tim and Jack dearly; more than anyone, but this was never what she expected. She never thought she'd find herself sitting under Wayne Manor in the Bat Cave holding her, perhaps, dying step-son.

Suddenly the woman realized that she needed to get out of the oppressive Cave. It was as if the dankness and darkness was closing in on her. Standing to her feet, Dana caused Jack to stir out of his blank staring at Tim.

"Dana?" He asked as he looked at his wife.

"I…I have to go, Jack." She moved back some from the bed. "Just for a little bit."

Jack stood and put a hand on her wrist. "Are you okay?"

Dana felt tears come to her eyes and mentally cursed her weakness. She should stay with Jack. She should stay with Tim. But she just _couldn't_. "I just need to go. It's all too much right now."

Jack watched his wife step around him and move to his son's side. She bent over Tim's pale face and placed a tender kiss to his forehead. "I'll be back, Tim. I promise," Dana said softly and Jack felt himself longing to keep his wife at his side.

"Please, just stay for me." He paused and added, "For _Tim._"

Dana turned and moved away from the bed. As she walked past her husband she stopped and placed a soft hand on his cheek. "I am leaving for Tim. I need time alone: to think, to process. I'll be back." With a soft kiss to his lips, Dana moved away and headed up the stairs to the Manor passing Bruce Wayne on the way. She gave the man a smile. "Take care of Timothy while I'm gone."

Bruce didn't have a chance to ask the woman what she meant before she was trotting up the stairs. The man watched her go and then, once out of his sights, he turned and looked towards the medical bay. Painfully aware that Alfred was making dinner, Dick was out dealing with Gardenee, and Dana had just left, Bruce knew he and Jack were alone with nothing standing between them except a child whom they both cared for deeply.

Squaring his shoulders, but being mindful not to go into complete Bat-Mode, Bruce moved in the direction of the sick bay uncertain what was going to occur, but knowing _something_ was going to happen.

……

Jack, not having the training of his son, wasn't aware Bruce was behind him until the younger man made a point to kick a metal cabinet. The older man steeled himself enough not to jump off his seat, but he still whirled around quickly with surprise. Bruce stared at Jack and was met with a glare.

"What do you want?" Tim's father asked with accusation tainting his voice.

Bruce did not allow himself to get angry. "I was seeing how Tim is doing."

Jack barked a laugh and Bruce suddenly realized the older man was asking for a fight and probably had been fuming since their conversation before was abruptly ended.

"You don't care about him. You only care about yourself."

The younger man narrowed his eyes. "Do not presume to know me," he warned dangerously even though Jack paid no heed to it.

"I know enough about you, Bruce or should I say Batman." Jack turned in his chair confront Bruce with his body as well as his words. "I don't think you know the difference between the two anyhow. You think you're on some mission from God; that you have to exact justice to every evil do-er that exists. You are just so god-damned righteous." The older man stood. "You used my son for your own purposes. You brainwashed him into one of your mindless soldiers. I know who you are, Wayne. You're nothing but a lost boy who is still looking for his parents and you think you'll find them through Batman."

"I said it before, Jack. You know _nothing._" Bruce wouldn't let Jack know how deeply his words had cut him and how accurate they seemed to him. Many times, Batman felt like he was pushing others around him to take up his battle against their will. Many times he felt that he had to fight because he owed it to his parents. A part of him, the part that he only heard right before he fell asleep while he was dreaming yet awake, told him that if he fought hard enough and long enough his parents would be given back to him. It was foolish, he knew, but a part of him still had to believe.

Bruce continued speaking to Jack. "Your son needed to fight. He was never used against his will." It was all the younger man could say, but it wasn't enough.

"How can you believe that!" Jack yelled. "Do you think he wanted to have himself shot at? Beaten? Nearly killed every night of the week? I read what he did and what he went through. Pain was a constant in his life- physical and mental."

It took nearly all of Bruce's training not to show any emotion at Jack's words. Too often he had questioned himself in regards to Tim and too often he had shoved those questions deep inside assuming Tim would tell him if he wanted to quit. But now, all those questions came rushing to the surface. Had he done wrong by Tim? Was the boy too afraid to quit? Bruce had barely had time to process that last question before Jack's voice interrupted him.

"Do you think as a sixteen-year-old he wanted to have his leg shattered!"

Suddenly all those questions that had been running around in Bruce's head stopped immediately and he stared with a shocked expression even he couldn't hid at Jack.

"What?" He asked incredulously.

Jack pointed a finger at the prone teenager in the bed. "You were suppose to find him before anything happened to him. I trusted in you! And look at him now. My son's dying and it's your fault. You weren't there for him when he needed you."

A haze of red past before Bruce's eyes and he spoke without any consideration to his words. Hours later, Bruce would realize, when talking to Jack, it was the first time in recent memory he had truly lost control of himself. He would not be proud, but he would not be sorry.

"I wasn't there for him?" Bruce questioned. "_I_ wasn't suppose to _be_ there for him! _He_ wasn't suppose to be where he was." The younger man stepped scant inches away from Jack so their noses were almost touching. Instead of the louder tones that Bruce had been speaking in before, he dropped his voice to a whisper. "Don't you dare claim that I wasn't fast enough. I didn't get to your son in time, but Tim was kidnapped and beat and shot because of _you_." The last word was said in a hiss and Bruce noticed Jack flinch with satisfaction.

Bruce continued, lost in his anger. "Your son did nothing but love you unconditionally. He gave up Robin for _you_. He never wanted anything more from you than for you to accept him and love him. You couldn't even do that for him." The younger man pointed to Tim on the bed. "Look long and hard at him, Jack, because _you're_ the one who put him there."

With that last, crushing statement, Bruce shouldered his way around Jack and moved swiftly away from the sick bay forgetting his earlier claim of checking on Tim. He had to get away from the older man before he said, or did, something even worse. A nagging voice in Bruce's head, however, asked: Could he say anything worse?

TBC…


	11. Chapter Eleven

Disclaimer and notes in part one.

We're reaching the end of this tale. Well, for the most part that is. There are, as of now, 4 chapters (this one included) and an epilogue left. As promised, this will be completely posted by August 17th, have no fear. Thank you for all the feedback thus far in this story.

And now we finally have our young hero's journey back into the world of consciousness, though I wager hell wish he'd stayed out by the end. :-)

Enjoy.

Part Eleven

Jack hadn't moved since Bruce left him with those harsh last words.

You're the one who put him there.

Jack found he couldn't deny that statement; he was the reason his son was laying, near-death on some sterile hospital sheet. He hadn't been able to protect Timothy from himself and his problems. Tim never should have gotten mixed up in any of this. Jack shook his head and laid his forehead down on the soft bed listening to the soft beeps alerting him to his son's heart rate.

The old man took a deep breath and allowed his body to completely still itself. He even held his breath and simple did not move anything. It was as if by not moving he could stop all these terrible things from occurring; somehow his lack of mobility could stop time and stop the forward movement and the clashes that he life had been having. But, he knew it was too late for that. In a sigh Jack released the air in his lungs and raised his eye to stare at Tim. _It was much too late._

Looking at his child it still amazed Jack that Tim was even alive. He was so pale. So pale and still. No one could be alive and be so very still for so long especially not his son. Even before his jump into the crime fighting world, Timothy had always been a boy filled with movement. He was never uncontrollable, as a matter of fact as a child Tim was wonderful. But, he was always moving in some way whether it was a tapping foot, a hand gently playing with a small toy, or when he lost all inhibitions and took off running someplace. It used to drive Janet mad that she could rarely get Tim to just standstill, but a part of Jack loved it. It made the boy stand out and Jack always felt his child would excel physically. The ironic part was that he did just not in the way Jack had planned.

But, now, watching Timothy just lay there and not move was unnerving. Jack expected that, at any moment, the monitors would scream and Tim's heart would stop fighting; _Tim_ would stop fighting. A part of Jack even worried that Tim was fighting conscious and didn't want to wake up. It was irrational, but Jack feared his son didn't want to leave the happy state of unawareness he was in and face the world he had grown to hate.

Jack wasn't blind; he knew how unhappy his son had become. He knew what taking away Robin had done to Tim, but he also believed it was for the best. It _had_ to be for the best. After all, once Tim was away from Bruce, away from that nightlife, he would become the normal teenager that he should be. It was only now, during these last few days, the Jack realized Tim had never been normal and never could be. Making him behave like every other teenager was killing the boy.

The man shook his head to clear his thoughts. Everything had gone so wrong. They were suppose to be a family. They were suppose to be happy and live in their little house in peace and serenity. They were suppose to be _normal_. Yet, Jack realized all his attempts to have his family be a family had failed because of him. Timothy had done what Jack asked and could not be blamed for the way things had presently turned out. Jack again felt guilt stab at him knowing that, in some twisted way, everything that had lead to this moment had been his fault.

Jack hadn't been there when Tim needed a father so he'd turned to Bruce. Jack hadn't been there when Tim needed him to listen so he became Robin. Jack hadn't been there through Tim's course as Robin, so he lied. Jack hadn't been there to save himself from falling into gambling so Tim was kidnapped. And beaten. And shot.

Lowering his head to Tim's bed again, the older man began to weep earnestly. Bruce was right: He had put his son where he was now. Jack allowed himself to cry over all his failings in respect to Tim. He allowed the pain to wash over him and shame to grow inside him. He _had_ never been a father and, when he finally felt like being one, Tim hadn't needed one. Still, Jack shoved himself on his child claiming to know what was best, but the irony was, he didn't even know his son anymore. Tim had grown up without him and moved on.

Jack raised his head and looked at Tim's ashen face. His son didn't deserve someone like him; he deserved and needed someone so much better. With shaky steps, Jack rose from his seat and to one of the medical desks nearby. Taking out a crumbled piece of paper from who knew where, Jack began to write.

…….

Tim woke up to the sound of beeping. It was a rather annoying sound, but the young man refused to open his eyes. He only wished that this entire episode was over and that he was someplace safe. Tim had been through enough and he was tired. So very tired and didn't have the energy to face those men again, all he wanted to do was sleep in a safe place like the Bat Cave.

Wait, Tim thought as a sudden memory came rushing back to him. Bruce standing over him as Batman while he felt himself slip away and conscious leave him. The young man's eyes suddenly jerked open and he was greeted with a very tall ceiling. Not able to believe his eyes, or his luck for that matter, Tim rolled his head to the side paying no heed to the pain the movement caused. Looking to his left, he saw the Bat Computer emitting a soft glow and nearly broke into a joyous laugh.

He was safe.

He was _home_.

Alerted by the teenager's movement, Alfred made his way to Tim's side. "It is good to see you, young sir." The Englishman smiled and Tim couldn't help but return the gesture.

The teenager opened his mouth to speak a greeting, but found himself parched and unable to do so. _How long have I been out,_ the young man thought while he tried again to speak. Alfred appeared, mere seconds later, with a glass of water.

"I am afraid that you must be quite thirsty." Tim took the offered water and relished in the coolness the liquid gave him as it traveled down his throat. Finding his voice, Tim asked the current question on his mind: "How long?"

The Englishman smiled warmly. "Just a little over three days."

The teenager blinked. _Three days._ That was a new record for him. "How…"

Alfred cut him off. "Save your strength and relax. I shall alert Master Bruce that you are awake and he will fill you in." The older man placed a cool hand on Tim's slightly warm forehead. "For now, just rest."

The suggestion of sleep from Alfred was too powerful for Tim to ignore and he closed his eyes drifting back into the unconscious he had just come out of. The butler watched his charge for a few silent moments, feeling a sense of relief at his waking. Things would be better now that the youngest Master was awake. Taking a quick look at the IVs, Alfred walked to the console in order to alert Bruce.

…….

Alfred did as he said he would, and found Bruce sitting in his office looking over actual Wayne Enterprises information. Regularly, although not religiously, Bruce would make certain his company was still on the path to success. After all, Batman and company's equipment didn't come cheap. When the butler opened the door, Bruce looked up.

"Master Timothy has woken up." Since the shooting, Tim's health had stayed relatively good and both men assumed his unconsciousness was still due to the loss of blood. They were remarkably lucky, though, that infection had not set in.

Bruce stood from his work. "How is he?" He asked as he moved out of the room with Alfred following behind.

"He appeared awake and coherent although utterly exhausted. A little warm to the touch and I believe a slight fever may have set in. Everything else, relatively speaking, is fine."

Even if the young man had been lucky and avoided infection, his injuries were still very grave and it would be weeks till the bullet wound healed properly. As for the leg, with Tim awake now, work could be done with it but, as of now, the prognosis still looked dismal; the injury appeared too blunt, too abrasive, and too long ago for proper healing to still be an option. Both men, however, kept that thought to themselves.

Alfred and Bruce moved to the Cave and found the young man asleep having taken the Englishman's suggestion to heart. Bruce looked the teenager over and already noticed an increase in coloring. The two men went about their check-up in silence. Although the stress seemed to lift from the Cave there was still a black cloud that hung over the sickbay. It had been three days since Bruce and Jack Drake had faced off alone in front of the unconscious teenager. Three days since they'd found a note left for Tim by his father. Three days since Jack Drake had walked out on his sick son.

Neither knew what they were going to say when Tim asked where his father was. Or what they could.

…….

It wasn't until later that night that Tim re-awoke. This time disorientation didn't come to him and the young man sighed contently. He still hurt, very much so, but there was a sense that it didn't matter because he knew he was in the best hands imaginable and that eased his mind. Looking around the room, the teenager smiled to see Dick sitting with a laptop situated on his lap typing.

"Hey, Dick."

The typing ceased and the older man looked up with a smiled that mirrored Tim's. Dick closed the computer and made his way to the teenager's side.

"Hey, Bro. How ya feeling?"

"Sore." Tim answered with a smile and watched Dick nodded knowingly. "And tired."

Dick rubbed a hand over the younger man's head, messing his hair. "I know how ya feel." And he really meant it and, sadly, anyone in the Bat Family could say the same thing and also mean it. "You gave us quite a scare." The older man removed his hand and let it fall at his side. "Don't do that again," he said in all seriousness.

Tim, knowing he had no doubt scared a few years off of Dick's life (and his own!) shook his head. "Don't worry, I'll leave the getting shot to Bruce."

Dick laughed. "Good."

The two men fell into silence after that. There were many thoughts and questions rushing through Tim's mind, but he could hardly focus on any of them due to the drugs that coursed through his system. His detective mind also worked furiously trying to piece together the events that he remembered and how he ended up where he was. The best he could do, though, was: _I got shot. I passed out. I got mended. And I woke up. _It wasn't to greatest detective work he had ever done and left a lot more to the unknown than the known.

Tim was uncertain of so many things. He wanted to know where his dad was. He wanted to know how _he_ was. He wanted to know what happened to Mic and Hal. He wanted to know how long he'd been out. But, most importantly, he wanted to know what this whole thing was _really_ about.

As if reading the bubbling questions, Dick spoke up. "Easy there, kiddo. You'll have your chance to ask questions, but right now you just need to rest."

The teenager smiled. "You're good," he said and the older man smirked.

"I learned from the best," Dick said with a knowing smile. "For now, just go back to sleep."

Tim nodded, but didn't close his eyes. He needed to know one of the answers to his questions. "Where's my dad?" He asked and noticed a flash of…_something _pass over Dick's face.

"He's out." The older man answered and instantly Tim knew he was being given the run-around. Dick knew Tim knew this as well and felt unease grow in him. There wasn't anything he could say that would satisfy the teenager's curiosity and, in the end, would only make things worse. Dick had been filled in by Alfred that Jack had left and would not be coming back anytime soon. Knowing it was none of his business, Dick kept questions to himself understanding that he would know if Tim wanted him to know.

Tim carefully watched Dick's face and could see uncertainly and apprehension written all over it. He, too, had learned from the best and knew when to push and when not to push. This was a time not to push so, begrudgingly, Tim nodded knowing the Dick understood he was unsatisfied with the answer.

"Okay," the teenager said and gave his older brother a small smile. "Let him know I wanna see him if I'm asleep."

There was an unsaid challenge to Tim's words that Dick recognized. He was calling his bluff in as innocent a way as possible. The older man only nodded finding himself unable to utter another lie to the younger man.

"I'll get Alfred to come and fix you a nice dinner." Dick said as he made his way slowly out of the sickbay. Tim didn't give an affirmative or negative answer, but just watched the older man leave. Although he was determined to stay awake for Dick when he came back and press him a little more, Tim found he was unable to stop his eyes lids from closing and, before he knew it, he was asleep once more.

TBC…


	12. Chapter Twelve

Disclaimer and notes in part one. This is kind of a transition scene to get us to the next showdown. And yes, I am going to say that a bullet to the stomach does not heal over night and Tim's is not, but I'm taking some liberties with the idea that a) Tim probably can stand more pain than the average person and may not be aware of some of it b) Alfred and Bruce know how to treat and stitch up a bullet wound to get a person back on their feet and c) it was not that bad of a bullet wound as bullet wounds come. So, that is going to explain Tim's probably better than average recovery time which mainly comes into play in the next chapter, though a bit here. Oh, and don't worry, I haven't forgotten about that knee.

Enjoy!

Masquerade

Part twelve

When morning came, Tim woke and promised himself that he would _not_ fall back asleep until he had answers to all the questions that still plagued him. He already felt that his thoughts were coming in clearer and, no doubt, Alfred was working to carefully monitor the amount of drugs that Tim was given. It wasn't that Bruce was against drugs, he just didn't like them and constantly made certain to extract all use of narcotics as soon as possible while not causing a great deal of pain. That was fine by the teenager who, even after all his injuries, could never claim any sort of dependence on drugs. Well, except some aspirin. And coffee if caffeine was considered a drug. But, truly, that was all and those hardly counted.

Tim enjoyed this newfound sense of clarity even if the pain was slightly greater than last night. Nothing could ever compare to the agony he had suffered while being held captive so he would deal and made a mental note to not move too swiftly for a few more days.

Wiggling slightly to find a more comfortable position, Tim began to form all the questions that swam in his mind last night into a coherent order. _First, ask how I am then move into what happened and finally ask about dad._ Tim had a feeling something with his father had happened and he needed to know what. He worried that if his dad had been called and brought to the Manor that he and Bruce had some sort of argument. After everything that had gone down with Robin, those two men would never be able to be within five feet of one another without some sort of explosion, Tim knew. But, a part of the teenager also held out hope that the two would be civil to one another at least until Tim gained consciousness.

Another part of Tim wondered if his father even knew where he was. Obviously Jack Drake was involved in his kidnapping in some way or another, but that didn't necessarily mean Jack knew about it. As Robin, Tim had found many parents, husbands, wives and other relatives who, in some way, acted a cause for a loved one's kidnapping who never knew. Tim thought that if his father knew where he was, surely he would have come. As the young man's thoughts traveled far and wide, he heard the soft steps of someone coming nearer and watched as Alfred entered.

"Ah, glad to see you are awake, young sir." The butler began to straighten some of the sheets and Tim couldn't help but smile at his paternal instinct. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," he answered. "Still tired and sore," he added knowing Alfred would not have been content with the single-word answer.

"I assume you'll be both of those things for quite some more time."

Tim found his opening. "How _am_ I doing?"

The Englishman, even though he knew the answer by heart, grabbed the medical clipboard and scanned it over once before answering. "The bullet was successfully removed and appears to be healing find with no sign of infection which, I must say, makes you quite a lucky young man."

Looking down at his heavily bandage stomach, Tim thought _I don't _feel_ lucky_, but said: "If I had been _really _lucky I wouldn't have _been _shot."

"Indeed," was all Alfred said.

"And my leg?" Tim asked. In reality, the teenager felt that he didn't want to know the answer to the question, dreading the outcome. He had seen what the break - _shattering _- had looked like and even to his untrained eye, it had looked _bad._ Bad enough, he knew, to cause permanent damage. Alfred looked back down at the sheet and gave a mental sigh. There was no point in delaying it anymore.

"The hit connected below the knee cap so it avoided the joint which, although heavily bruised, is whole."

Tim felt relief rush through him. Having the knee joint intact was nothing short of a miracle for he was certain the men had not cared where the hit connected. If the hammer had connected with the joint, no doubt shattering it instantly, Tim knew he would be lucky to have gained even marginal mobility of his leg. But now he felt hope rise in him and a wave of happiness passed through him that almost made tears fall. Yet, as quickly as this wave came, it was gone as he caught that look in Alfred's eye. The one that said there was still more and hopes should not be raised so easily.

"What is it?" The young man question, with fear growing in his stomach.

Alfred put the chart he had been reading down and looked directly into Tim's blue eyes. "Because of the intensity of the hit the bone is in many pieces so that, on their own, they won't be able to mend. Surgery will have to be done."

"But then everything will be fine, right?" Tim questioned with desperation coloring his voice.

"It depends on how the surgery goes. Your leg could heal perfectly fine in a few months. Or it could never mend completely."

The young man swallowed and nodded. "So, I may not be able to use my leg." Any elation he had felt earlier drained out of him completely. After the luck with the bullet wound and his knee cap, the young man knew to expect that his leg would be fine on its own was too much. Somehow being in the Bat Family just meant your luck was _never_ that good.

Alfred watched the young man's eyes drop down to stare at his heavily bandaged leg. "Even if it did not heal completely as it had been, your leg would just would work nearly as well as it use to, but be much weaker."

"It would be useless," Tim angrily stated.

The butler moved to stand next to Tim's side and he put a gentle hand on the teenager's shoulder. "Now, Master Timothy, there is no need to assume the worse right now. The damage done is bad, but not beyond repair. Doctor Tompkins is the best there is and she will do everything in her power to fix your leg properly." The young man took a deep breath attempting to absorb Alfred's high spirits.

"Thanks," Tim said with a smile. The sense of unease and uncertainly he felt towards his leg still remained, but he did his best to smash it deep inside of him. There would be time to consider the possibilities of his future later. He was alive and that was something. And, Tim knew that there was little that could be done right now and the best thing that he could do was to hope for the best. Even if some part of him expected the worst.

"You are welcomed, sir."

Alfred moved and began to work on Tim's IV. The teenager watched him and then, without a second to re-think the question, Tim blurted out:

"What is going on?"

The butler turned and looked back at Tim. "I beg your pardon?"

The young man made a gesture with his hand over his body. "All of this. Why did it happen?" He paused and noticed Alfred looked like Dick had the night before; like he was going to offer Tim some excuse or unfulfilling answer. Cutting the butler off before he could try to placate Tim, the teenager spoke, "I know this has something to do with my dad and I was ransom." A flash of surprised crossed the butler's features and Tim felt a sense of victory rise in him.

It seems I'm on the right track, he thought to himself before speaking again. "The guys who took me, they mentioned my dad and money and, well, I can put two and two together." He paused and swallowed and then continued. "But, even so, through all that happened, I only knew one thing: I had to get out of that situation so I didn't press to figure out why things were happening. And now that I'm out of it, I need to know what all this had been about. Tim Drake leads a rather normal life; there isn't a reason for him to be put into the situation I was. There was something at play here and I need to know what it is."

Alfred looked at the young man with a sense of pride. He was _so_ gifted and the butler was given another reason why Bruce had chosen this lad to be Robin. The way his mind worked was astonishing and never ceased to amaze Alfred.

Even with his growing sense of price, Alfred knew it was not his place and so he gave Tim a warm smile and said, "It is not for me to tell, Master Timothy."

The teenager closed his eyes and turned his head away from Alfred. He took a calming breath, attempting to keep his anger in control. It wasn't Alfred's fault this had happened and, the teenager knew that the butler was trying to keep his place and respect, well, _someone_. But Tim had to know.

He spoke in a soft voice that Alfred could barely make out. "I wanted to find out what was going on," he began. "But knew that my dad would rather I get out and then leave the detective work to Bruce. So, I did that and I ran." Tim turned back to Alfred who was watching him intently. "But, well, I didn't get away. They were prepared, Alfred. And organized. As Tim Drake I didn't stand a chance and I couldn't _be_ Robin because they had Tim Drake. I was trapped."

The butler put a gentle hand on Tim's forehead and brushed the spiky hair away from the young man's face. "I am sorry, but it still isn't my place."

"I was the one who was kidnapped, Alfred. Don't you think I deserve to know what's going on?"

"More than anyone, young sir, but from me it would mean nothing."

"Then from who!" He cried at the butler.

Alfred looked at the near-panic expression on his young charge's face and found himself moving towards the desk without a thought. Tim was right; he did have a right to know and Alfred had the ability to give him such knowledge. Knowing Bruce would be unhappy, but also knowing that he could not, with a clear conscious, leave Tim alone with no answer, the Englishman picked up the letter with the quickly scribbled '_Tim'_ written on it. The seal had been opened, but re-sealed with no notice. Alfred turned back and put the letter into the young man's hands.

"You deserve to know the truth from your father," the butler said before turning and walking away leaving Tim to stare at the white envelope. Feeling dread rise in him, the teenager opened the letter and began to read.

Dear Timothy,

I know if you're reading this letter than you are on the road to recovery. I hope it is an easy road or, at least, as easy at it can be. I know you're in good hands, perhaps the best. You are strong and I know before long you'll be back on your feet.

I am sorry that I cannot be with you as you head down this path of recovery, but I know, in my heart of hearts, that this is for the best. You need to be with your family right now.

Your true_ family. _

You must be wondering what happened and I do not know if Bruce has told you the truth or not. I assume he has, but if not, I owe you an explanation. Like yourself, I've kept my secrets from you and Dana. I have a problem with gambling that began well before our financial troubles, but intensified then. I know that I shouldn't offer excuses, but I started gambling to save this family. Or so I thought. I thought I could work us out of the hole and make our lives what it once had been. Before I knew it I was in over my head and had a debt I could not pay. Mike Gardenee, my bookie, needed to be re-paid and I couldn't do that so he took you from me as ransom. Please believe that I never thought he would harm you or Dana or else I would have quit in a heartbeat. After you were taken, I came to Bruce for help in finding you.

I cannot say anything to make what I did right again. You were hurt worse than anything I've ever seen. Every time I looked at your prone figure all I thought was 'this is my fault.' And it is. I had a problem, one I thought I didn't need help with, and it nearly cost you your life.

And it cost me you.

While I sat by your side, I realized something that, I think, I knew all along. I am not your father. Of course, biologically I am, but in all other areas, I am not. I have never known what your favorite color was, nor your favorite candy or even your favorite movie. I've never taken you to a ballgame or camping. I've never listened, truly listened, to what you had to say and, if I had, I realize that we may not be where we are today- in two separate worlds that, inevitable, collided together.

I love you as only a father can, and I wish that I could repair all the damage that I've done and make up for all those times I wasn't there. Well, in a way, I tried to do that already and it only made things worse. So, I am doing the one thing I can do.

I am letting you go.

I will always love you, Timothy. I did from the moment you first opened those huge blue eyes of yours and I saw them brimming with intelligence. Be safe, my son. Be safe and happy. I know Bruce, Dick and Alfred will be, as they already are, the family that you never had and I hope that is it not too late to be enough. They love you with their entire beings and will accept you into their home. If you choose to be Robin again, something that I gladly relinquish to your control where it always should have been, I want you to be careful. It is a dangerous city and, no matter how prepared you are, I fear things can go wrong. Promise me you'll be safe.

I wish you a long and happy life and will think of you often.

Jack Drake

true 

Tim let the letter fall from numb fingers to finally rest on his lap. A strange sense of emptiness came over him and he could do nothing but stare at the still letter in shock and pain. _Why?_ He questioned as his eyes furiously scanned the letter a second time. _What had he done wrong? Why had his father left him?_ With rage and despair, Tim grabbed the letter and tore it apart until all that existed were slivers of paper that had fluttered on the bed and floor.

Staring at the almost confetti-like decoration resting on his legs, Tim wasn't aware he was crying until the first drops hit the blanket. Balling his hands into fists, he released the tension he felt building in him as sobs that racked his small frame. All the while he cried one question echoed in his mind: what had he done wrong?

-------

Nighttime came and with it the activity in the Cave began. Since reading the letter hours before, Tim had feigned sleep whenever someone came down to check on him. Whether or not Alfred or Bruce bought it was beyond him, but he didn't care. He wasn't so hopeful as to think that Bruce didn't know what was in the letter and the last thing the teenager wanted to do was talk about what his father had said and done.

Everything made no sense to the young man. He had done what his father wanted, he had stopped being Robin and been a normal teenager for the first time _ever._ And yet, Jack left him in the end. When Tim needed him the most, his father had up and left. Tim wasn't sure if he was more hurt or angry about it all.

The teenager knew he'd made things difficult for his father these past years. The lying, the sneaking out, the running away, the…well…so many other things, had caused a rift between father and son. And Tim knew that even though he'd stopped his nighttime activities he still had not been the easiest person to get along with and most certainly had not opened up any more to his dad. But, he had been trying, truly. Many nights Tim spent just thinking about how to approach his father and begin to fix all the wounds that had been opened and, even more importantly, the aim was not to try and convince Jack to let him be Robin again. Granted, if the two of them had been able to fix things and getting the costume back was a reward of such mending, well Tim wouldn't have argued, but he never wanted to lie to his father again even about intentions.

And yes, they hadn't fixed things, but everything was aligning for such a possibility and now… now that was shattered. Jack had lied to Tim and Dana. He'd lead another life that neither knew about and, in the end, this other life had taken control of theirs. Tim couldn't help the thought that constantly flash in his brain: he had been kidnapped because of his father. The teenager wanted nothing more than to misplace blame and not believe the guilt his father held, but he found he could not. Whether it was due to his own anger and hurt, he didn't know, but the fact remained a large part of Tim blamed his father for his current predicament.

Worse still, was the fact that Jack, instead of trying to fix things, ran away leaving his son alone. Sure Jack felt Tim would be in better hands, but the teenager felt that was his own choice to make and not his father's. Jack removed any choice Tim had of offering forgiveness or understanding to his father because Jack was consumed with enough guilt that he felt judgment by his son already had been passed.

Tim heard the footsteps enter the Cave from the Manor and knew his fake sleeping wouldn't hold up any longer. Sighing, the teenager opened his eyes and wasn't the least bit surprised to see Alfred standing before him.

"Hello, young sir. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Tim answered in a flat voice.

The butler nodded and began to look at the various machines and charts laying around. He talked as he worked. "You'll be happy to know that the stitches are holding up quite well and with the strong brace on your leg, I would say soon you'll be able to walk around the Cave a bit."

The teenager looked at the older man with surprised. Alfred _rarely_ let anyone who had been injured do _anything_ until they go the clean bill of health from Leslie. Granted, Bruce rarely listened and was out and about before any sane person would even think of sitting up let alone fighting crime, but the younger vigilantes they knew who was really in charge and would wait for Leslie. For Alfred to be allowing Tim even the slight bit of freedom meant the butler knew how hard things were going for the young man. Tim wasn't certain if he should be grateful or feel slightly insulted. He chose to say nothing, but nodded in case Alfred was waiting for a response.

The older man finished everything and looked back at Tim with a smile. "Master Bruce has already left for the evening, but it does not look like anything pressing will keep him out for long. Can I get you anything?"

"What about Gardenee?" Tim blurted without thought.

"He has been taken care of and is presently in Gotham Penitentiary," the butler said matter-of-factly.

"Okay," Tim said not sure what else he could say. "I'm fine," he added letting Alfred know he could come and go as he pleased. The butler stayed for a moment longer before saying a soft, 'very well' and leaving. Alfred had been around the Family long enough to know that if someone chose not to speak when given the chance, pressing would do little good. As hard as it was for the older man to leave Tim, he knew he would do no good if he remained. The teenager would talk when he wanted to.

As Alfred was leaving Tim's eyes happened to fall on a pair of crutches he had not noticed early and wagered they had been brought down sometime during the afternoon while he 'slept.' Staring at them, the teenager felt his mouth run dry and suddenly knew what he had to do.

Tomorrow he would visit his father come hell or high water.

TBC…


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Author notes: Okay, so actually the story won't be posted by August 17th as you might have noticed. But, it's not dead either. I'm just editing it still in between assignments so it may take a bit more time to post, but nothing that bad, I swear.

This part has actually been the hardest to write. I had an idea in my head and wrote it. Then hated it and deleted it. I tried again and that one was worse. So then I tried the original one more time and that still didn't work. Finally, this version came about. It still seems to be missing _something_, but I cannot figure out what it is so for now this is the post. It means that there will probably be an addition to the last part of the story to fit in the stuff that I missed from this version. Or maybe not. I did like this more the second time I read it. I must warn you, it's a swirl of emotions that aren't always clear as to why they happen, but this is a terribly stressful time for Tim and, having used my own very emotional experience of winter to play into this, I think it is fairly true to form in ways conversations can go.

Enjoy!

Masquerade

Part Thirteen

…….

Tim knew he would be killed if Bruce checked in on him, but it was too late to truly worry about that. He had made up his mind and, once that was done, nothing was going to stop him. He knew he was being stupid and, even worse, he knew what he was doing was dangerous to his health. But, those rational facts aside, this was something he had to do and so, very carefully, he made himself rise from the bed, crutch his way to one of the many cars in the Bat Cave, and drive away.

Parking in front of the apartment complex in the stolen Jaguar, the teenager stared at the entrance. Now that he was here, Tim felt doubts begin to creep into his mind. What, in all honesty, did he hope to accomplish? His father had already said all he wanted to say and, included in that was goodbye. Tim realized that what it came down to was he didn't accept that. He didn't accept his father leaving him, he didn't accept that he'd been given no say, and he didn't accept Jack's cowardice in leaving every thing in a letter. Resolve somewhat firmer, Tim made his way inside the complex and, before he knew it, stood in front of his apartment door. Swallowing, Tim knocked.

Jack Drake opened the door looking more haggard and older than Tim ever remembered. For a moment, Tim's father just stared with an open mouth at his crutch-wielding son. He finally shook his head and asked in disbelief, "Timothy?"

"Yeah, Dad," the teenage responded weakly not sure what to say suddenly. Everything he'd rehearsed in his head over the last day flew from his brain. Tim stood, leaning heavily on his crutches staring at his father and suddenly felt eight again. As he looked at Jack, all the teenager wanted was for his father to put an arm around him, help him inside, and just sit with him. The young man gave his father a weak smile because, in actuality, that was the closest he could presently get to asking for all those things he longed for.

When Jack laid eyes on Tim he instantly was struck with how young his son looked. After learning about Robin, Jack saw his son as much older then his sixteen years, but now, as Tim stood in front of him pale and bandaged, but weakly smiling, his realized his son was a mere child.

An abused and tired child.

"Can I come in?" The young man asked and Jack moved aside without a word. The older man watched as Tim slowly, and with ragged breathing, made his way into the apartment. Once inside, the teenager turned back to his father and stood a bit straighter, taking some of his weight off the crutches. The smile vanished and a look of anger crossed over the teenager's face. Tim stared directly at his father and Jack noticed that it was as if Tim had finally come to a conclusion.

"I got your letter," the teenager said in a clipped tone that barely escaped from being a growl. The voice surprised even Tim who was taken-aback by the sudden change in his temperament. Tightening his hands around the handle of his crutches, the young man resolved to try and keep the fluctuating emotions in check.

Jack, for his part, winced at his son's statement. "I'm sorry," the older man muttered while looking at his feet. He wasn't certain what he was sorry for; was it the letter itself, what it explained, perhaps leaving, or, probably more on the mark, everything.

Tim said nothing to his father's apology, but instead asked the one question that had been on his mind since he'd read the note: "Why?" Within that question were a variety of smaller questions: _why did you leave, why didn't you tell me, why didn't you tell me to my face, why wasn't I good enough…_

Jack flicked his eyes up to his son's and then back down. "I just…I couldn't look at you and know that I was the reason why you were lying in bed with a shattered leg and a bullet wound in your stomach. I couldn't stand to stare at you and listen to your ragged breathing knowing none of this would have happened if only I had been stronger." The older man wrung his hands in duress. "And I couldn't tell you about it to your face and see disgust in it."

The teenager shook his head in disbelief. "I wouldn't have done that," he said. "You should have stayed." Tim didn't add that for the last twenty-four hours all he had wanted was his father by his side. Alfred was kind and considerate, but it wasn't the same. Bruce had yet to be around when Tim was either conscious or willing to talk. And Dick would never fulfill a father position. All the young man had wanted was his dad to just sit next to him and say things would be alright. It didn't matter that Jack had never been what a "real" father should be; he was Tim's dad and that was what mattered. But instead of that, Tim had been given a letter; a letter that told him his father would never be by his side again.

"It was for the best, Tim, don't you see?" Jack said in a tone just shy of pleading. "I can never be the person you want. I can never be the person you need me to be."

"I just need you to be my dad!" Tim cried and felt his eyes well with tears. "I just need you to be there," he added.

Jack stare at his son finding his own eyes watering. Tim just didn't understand. He didn't understand that Jack was a terrible excuse for a father and that he knew he'd never change. Tim didn't understand that it was for the best, for his son's sake, that he left.

Tim didn't understand that he still had to leave.

Jack had to leave in order to let his son be who he needed to be. Jack had to leave in order to give his son the freedom and life he deserved. He had to leave because, every time he looked at his son, all he saw was his failure to protect the one person in his life he had loved unconditionally. In some weird part of Jack's brain, he realized that Tim had outgrown him and there was nothing Jack could offer his son to better his life.

"I'm sorry," Jack muttered and turned away from his son.

Tim watched his father for a moment before, as quickly as he could, he moved in front of Jack. "No," he said in his 'Robin' voice and watched his father start slightly. The teenager regained the balance he lost in his swift movements and starred his father in the eye.

"You can't just leave me, Dad. Look at me," he gestured minutely to his stomach and leg.

And Jack did look and, as he had every time before, felt guilt swell inside him. "I am looking," he said and sighed. He stopped talking for a moment as he took deep breaths to try and steady his voice. "All I can see is how this is your fault."

Time stood still for a moment in the Drake apartment. Tim instantly felt his heart rate increase and breathing become shorter while Jack reacted more outwardly and threw a hand to his mouth.

"My fault," the older man said while shaking his head. "_MY _fault."

But the damage had been done.

Tim gave his father a sad smile. "I see," he said and looked down at the floor.

"Son, I didn't mean that. It's been a difficult week." The older man was surprised when a laugh spilt forth from his Tim's lips.

"Son? You should make up your mind." Anger flowed from the young man's words though neither Drake seemed that surprised by another shift in the emotional energy. In the past, arguments between father and son would go from regular talking to yelling to near breakdowns at the drop of the hat. Though being Robin had helped Tim control his emotions better, when dealing with his father it was easy for the teenager to fall into old habits.

Jack, however, had not yet reached the same anger level that Tim had and spoke softly. "Tim, just… let's talk."

"No, Dad," the teenager said bluntly. "You didn't give me the chance to talk earlier and I'm not giving it to you now." All the pain he'd been feeling early came rushing back and Tim no longer felt the need to have his father be with him, but rather, felt a desire to hurt his father as badly as Jack had hurt him rise in him.

Shutting off his brain, Tim let his mouth do the leading. "You blame me still. You can't stand the fact that I lied to you. That I took your trust and threw it back at you."

"No, Tim, really, I just misspoke."

The teenager shook his head. "You didn't, but I bet you wish you did! Or… or maybe you did misspeak, but," the young man looked at his father and narrowed his eyes, "I bet some part of you reasons that I lied first. I bet that's how you justified you keeping your problem a secret." Tim's voice took on a mocking tone. "'Oh, Timothy lied first and his was much worse. I just have a little problem, no need to concern my family with it.' But look at what happened, Dad! Look!" Tears suddenly fell from Tim's eyes. "They broke my leg with a hammer. A _hammer_! And I got shot because you _lied_!" The teenager shook his head, "And then you just leave me with a letter saying you have to let me go. You must have thought you had yourself convinced everything was your fault. But, obviously, not quite enough. You just can't be the man you should be and tell me the damn truth."

Jack wasn't certain what path the conversation had taken, but the end it had come to made his heart stop. The older man staggered away from Tim even as the young man called after him finally realizing the intensity of his words. Jack moved away until he reached his bedroom and was able to shut the door behind him. Tim tried to follow his father, crying apologies after him, but it was no use. The shutting of the bedroom door ended all the teenager's pleas instantly. Tim looked at the bedroom down and knew that he had somehow made the terrible situation even worse. Any hope he'd had of coming here and fixing things went out the window as the pain he felt transformed themselves into words, which he flung at his father.

Of course Jack had misspoke. Of course he didn't blame his son for the kidnapping and what followed, but on some level Jack still blamed his son for many, if not most, of the family problems. And, though stated much more harshly than it should have been, Tim had been right about part of Jack's mind-frame while dealing with the guilt of lying. Everything had turned into a nasty cycle of lies and hurt price and distrust that, in the end, brought father and son to the place they currently stood.

The teenager felt his stomach tighten and wondered how their family had become so shattered. They had never been perfect, far from it, but they also had never been the mess they were now. Deep inside Tim knew that, in many ways, his run as Robin had been the cause of so many problems and, perhaps, had been the catalyst that lead them to their present situation.

Tim looked at the shut door once more and then turned away. Some part of the teenage accepted defeat and understood that too many hurtful things had been said and done for things to ever be right again. Feeling empty and exhausted, the young man made his way to the street just as a ringing sound caught his attention. Ceasing his hobbled walking, Tim pulled the cell phone out of his pocket. When leaving the Manor, the teenager made the one educated decision he had made that evening: to be prepared with his phone. Now, as he answered it, regretted it.

"Hello?"

"Where the _hell_ are you?"

Tim cringed at the worried voice of Dick yelling over the phone. "Uh…"

"Do you have _any_ idea how worried I was? I come over to see how you're doing and you're _gone!_ You were _shot_- your leg is _shattered_- you don't just get up and walk away when you feel like it!"

"I was just had to do something," he gritted out not wanting to say anything more.

"Do something? What did you have to do: run to the store!"

Tim scoffed at that. "No, you…you just wouldn't understand, Dick! I had something I just…I had to do." The teenage felt his head swim dangerously as a wave of dizziness pass over him. Maybe this hadn't been a good idea. _No, _Tim thought as the ground began to tilt before his eyes,_ this had been a very bad idea._

Feeling his emotions suddenly drain out of him, Tim became aware of how tired his good leg was and how badly his left leg ached. He also noticed that his stomach was burning. "Dick," he said weakly into the phone. Tim had planned to ask Dick to help him, but the words died on his lips as he watched the ground rush up at him.

Dick heard his name and then a thud. "Shit," he swore knowing the young man had probably passed out. Shutting the phone and putting it in his pocket, Dick raced to the Bat Computer knowing Bruce had at least one tracker in his brother's clothing. Finding Tim's location, with a mental cringe at where that was, Dick jumped onto his bike and made his way towards the teenager.

By the time Dick came to Tim's side, the young man had three concerned citizens standing over him. Removing his helmet, the older man made his way through the crowd.

"Hey, who are you?" Someone questioned at Dick.

"I'm his brother," he answered with pause. "He was on the phone with me as he passed out." The crowd seemed satisfied with this answer and slowly parted ways. _Not overly concerned,_ Dick thought as he noticed no one bothered to call an ambulance. The older man bent over Tim and noticed the boy already had a lump forming on his forehead.

"You'll have a headache in the morning, Timbo, that's for sure," Dick said as he looked the teenager over once more. Thankfully, the stitches held even though there was some stretching and spotting of blood. Moving further down, the older man couldn't see anything wrong with Tim's leg although he knew the stress of walking and the fall certainly hadn't _helped_ anything. Sighing at Tim's stupidity and feeling sympathy knowing that, whatever the young man had hoped to accomplish at his father's house, hadn't gone through, Dick picked up Tim.

Spying Bruce's car, Dick made his way over there and situated Tim. Getting in himself, the older man spared one more look at the teenager's prone form. "Bruce is gonna kill ya, kiddo," he said as he pulled away.

…


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Author's Notes: I'm glad everyone liked the last part and gave feedback. Ah, I love feedback. ;-) So, here's the next part and actually, after this there's only one more left and an epilogue which will probably all go in one post. I hope everyone enjoys this part.

Masquerade

Chapter 14

…….

By the time the Dick and Tim reached the main road to the Manor, the younger man had regained consciousness the older man he hadn't said anything. Dick allowed the teenager to broad in his silence, not knowing what to say or ask. Dick knew Tim had sought out his father and it was fairly obvious that things had not gone well, or at least how Tim had foreseen them. Unsure of where things presently stood, Dick felt it was safer to remain mute unless Tim decided to speak. And so, they road on in a thick silence.

By the time the reached the garage, Dick's pledge to remain silent was at its breaking point. It was as Tim made a slow and awkward move to exit the car, the Dick broke his mental promise and spoke.

"If there's anything you want to tell me, you know I'm here for you. Even just to listen to you vent."

Tim stopped moving and looked at Dick. The older man was taken aback by the utterly stillness in Tim's eyes. The teenager, like himself, had unusually vibrant blue eyes that flickered either brighter or darker depending on moods. Alfred had once joked, though in a deadpanned voice, that his 'children' might think they could hide disappointment or anger, but they could not; their eyes always gave away the truth. Rarely had Dick ever seen this apparent feeling-indicator reflected in his own eyes, but suddenly he was struck with how very true it was for Tim. The young man's eyes were a dull blue, nearly gray, and screamed defeat.

Tim, oblivious to Dick's scrutiny, nodded. "I know," he said as he griped the door handle again.

He never got the chance to open the door for himself however, because it was pulled out of his hands and a very stern looking butler came into view with a wheelchair in tow. "Master Timothy, what were you thinking? Running off to who knows where without so much as a word!"

The young man moved himself slowly to the wheelchair and lowered himself into it without argument. "Sorry, Alfred," he replied and just looked at the ground. Above his head, unknown by the teenager, Dick mouthed to Alfred: 'he went to see his dad.'

The butler looked down at the young man in the wheelchair and shook his head. All three slowly made their way towards the sickbay, the only noise a soft sigh from Tim. It was as Alfred finished re-dressing Tim's stomach wound, without so much of a 'tisk', that Bruce walked in.

"Where were you?" The older man ground out in 'The Voice' and Alfred not so subtlety steered Dick and himself out of the sickbay area knowing that it was not their place, no matter how badly both wanted to stay and either listen or defend Timothy.

Tim, ignoring the exiting men, rolled onto his side away from Bruce being mindful of his sore stomach. The last thing he wanted right now was to deal with Bruce's prodding questions. He wanted to sit and wallow in his pity and curse all the things he had done and said over his last sixteen years. Bruce, however, was not easily swayed and simply stepped around the bed to look at the teenager.

"Timothy," he began in a slightly less angry version of Batman's growl. "Where were you?"

"Go away," the teenager mumbled.

"Not until you answer me." Bruce waited to see if Tim would speak, and when no words were forth coming, he continued. "You know you shouldn't be walking yet and your bullet wound is still tender."

The young man sighed. "I'm tired, Bruce," he said as he rolled on to his back and stared at the ceiling. Bruce was startled to see a soft trail of tears falling down the teenager's cheeks and even more amazed that Tim made no move to hide them. All of his 'children' took great cares to hid emotions, something that no doubt he only encouraged, and when they let such emotions out Bruce never knew how to deal. And so, as was his custom, he said nothing. And, in the silence, Tim spoke again. "I'm tired of all this. Everything I do is wrong; everything I've done has lead to another, worse problem. I can't do anything right and I can't even fix the things I do wrong." The young man's voice hitched, "I'm just _tired_. I want things to be _normal._"

Bruce moved towards the bed. "You know that can't happen."

"I know," Tim said and turned his head away while finally discretely wiping his hand over his eyes.

Silence fell into the sickbay, and Bruce withheld the urge to ask Tim again what had happened.

"I went to see my dad," the teenager finally said in a soft voice. "It didn't go well," he added.

The two past and present crime fighters fell back into their silence; neither knowing what to say or even if there was something appropriate to say. Bruce, was smart enough to know that things had not just gone unwell, but actually terribly wrong between Tim and his father. He'd read the note Jack left his son and, though finding the majority of what the man said to be true, he could not grant him any credit. Jack had left his son in a vulnerable moment and only illustrated weakness at running away. And, no doubt, Tim went to his father attempting to ease the guilt the older Drake felt, but somewhere along that journey things had gotten off track. Knowing Tim would never answer a direct question, Bruce took the time to look over the chart Alfred left.

"You're going to need surgery on your leg. It needs to be re-broken with pins put in place to help it heal properly."

Tim didn't open his eyes, but merely nodded already having assuming as much from his early conversation with Alfred. Also, after what he'd been through tonight, he realized that he just didn't care. There was something inside of Tim, that somehow hadn't been shattered when he read his father's note, that now was completely broken. Something inside the young man had been extinguished. The little hope that Tim had kept alive, that had told him his father simply made a mistake and written the letter out of fear, was forever gone. And, without that hope, Tim found he didn't care about much, if anything.

And, perhaps worse of all, Tim had begun to accept that his father was right and everything was his fault. Words that had been thrown at him in haste, were burned in his memory and their truth scarred upon his skin. Already the teenager had replayed countless times that he had made a poor decision and how those ramifications had affected his father. Too often, Tim realized, he had thought of the duty to Robin and not to that of his family and too often the duty of Robin had harmed his family. Too often Jack had been forced to pay some price or another based on his son's decisions and, some part of Tim's mind, was finally beginning to rationalize the fact that his father had lied because it was only fair. Tim had kept the greatest secret he would ever possess from his father at the cost of their relationship and so why on earth would Tim expect his father to do what he never did for Jack?

"Tim?" Bruce asked again having expected some reaction from the teenager about the current diagnosis, not at all aware of the mental battle the teenager was wagging.

The younger man looked at Bruce and simply mumbled, "Please go away," and Bruce was compelled to do just that based on the pleading tone of Tim's voice alone.

……

Three days later, Tim was still as quiet as ever. Bruce, not the most talk-a-tive person especially after being scorned once by the teenager, spent his days at the office and nights in costume. Therefore, Dick and Alfred took it upon themselves to try and make the young man open up, but, so far, they had been met with silence. Tim would take the prodded on his leg and stomach by Alfred without a word. Dick had attempted to bring his brother into conversation multiple times, but the most he had gotten was a soft, "I don't want to talk."

Everyone knew the young man was slipping into depression. Tim was barely aware of his surroundings; his mind occupied by the last conversation he'd had with his father and the guilt that came from it. It was a mistake, one part of Tim's brain told him again and again. Jack had simply gotten ahead of himself in words and misspoke. It was rational that that is what happened.

But the louder part of Tim's brain screamed at him that it had not been a mistake; that his father had finally said what he neglected to say in his letter. And this part of his brain was the one that Tim chose to listen to and it began to consume him.

When he wasn't being eaten away by guilt, the other question on his mind was: _what am I suppose to do now?_ Robin career was over. Even if Tim decided that he could put on the costume again, his leg would hold him back. There was nothing in the young man's mind that would allow him to think there was any possibility that his leg would be okay; there was no reason for such false hope. When Tim had lost Robin before, there was a part of him that never thought it was really gone; that he would be able to put on the costume once again. The teenager had a part of him that foolishly hoped his dad would come around one day. But now, even with his father's "permission" Tim didn't know if he could put on the Robin suit again. He would never be the same and could never be what he once was.

It was the combination of all these depressing thoughts that had cause Tim to simply shut down inside. There was really nothing left for him now. He didn't have his father, he didn't have Robin, and he didn't even know who he was anymore without those things. The homes he had known were gone.

"Master Timothy, we can remove the bandage from your stomach and the stitches."

The young man nodded and moved himself into a more comfortable position, offering his stomach to Alfred without a word. The Englishman worked gently on Tim and did as he said he would. The wound had healed nicely over the last few days, even with Tim's adventure, and Alfred was impressed by his handy work. It wouldn't even leave a scar.

_If only his leg would be as simple_, Alfred thought with a frown. The older man worried that, even with the surgery, it still wouldn't' heal properly. Not for the first time since Tim had come in to the Bat Cave after the incident, Alfred wondered what kind of people could attack a mere child so. He had seen a lot of violence in his years with the Family, but never something that was so heinous against one of his children.

Removing the last stitch, Alfred re-bandaged the wound in a looser manner. "I was wager that in two weeks time you'll hardly feel any pain from that wound."

Tim looked down at his stomach and gently poked with his finger. It hurt, but nothing that he couldn't stand and already it felt better. Alfred moved the old bandages aside and turned his back to the young man. The butler opened his mouth to speak, but was stopped from doing so by a voice coming from the entryway.

"Pack up, Timbo, you're moving out of this stuffy mansion and in with me."

Tim and Alfred both turned and saw Dick leaning against the door jam wearing a black leather coat smiling.

…….

For all intensive purposes, Bruce had been avoiding Tim, even if the teenager was in Bludhaven. Bruce's mind worked in a simple manner when it came to guilt. For him, he _knew_ that if Tim had never come into his life, never became Robin, he would be living peacefully at home with his father. But now, because of Bruce, the young man was without a father and, it appeared, without a home other than Dick's less-than-impressive apartment which was no place for Tim to settle. Of course the teenager was more than welcomed in the Manor, but right now, Bruce wasn't certain that was what Tim needed or wanted again. When Dick had proposed the move to Bludhaven, Bruce had objected, but then reversed knowing the teenager needed to be someplace a little more comfortable and friendly. The Manor, though beautiful, never had a true home quality to it; it was just too big and too many memories haunted it of the Waynes.

And Tim followed Dick to Bludhaven without so much as a word. There was no excitement, but there was also no protesting. Like most everything, he teenager just accepted what was happening to him.

"You need to see, Tim." A voice said from his doorway and Bruce looked up to see Alfred standing there. The Englishman, although outwardly looking as peaceful as ever, had body posture that screamed anger.

"I will," Bruce answered and looked back at his papers.

"He already lost one father. Don't make him think he's lost the other one as well." Without another word, Alfred turned and headed towards the kitchen. Bruce held the pen in his hand lightly, but did not write anything. _Don't make him think he's lost another one as well._ Bruce never considered himself a father to Tim; after all the young man already had one dad he didn't need another.

But, deep inside, Bruce knew Alfred spoke truthfully. To all the young crime fighters Bruce had become somewhat of a parental figure. At first he was merely a mentor, but as hours and days were spent on the street in life or death circumstance a bond formed. And that bond, in the end, molded itself into a parent/child bond even without anyone truly acknowledging it.

Bruce spared a look at the clock and then put his pen down. He wasn't good at fixing things of this nature; he wasn't good at repairing relationship problem, but only at causing them. The only experience he had in any regard to this was with Dick and that hadn't gone over that well. _I pushed him away because I loved him._ Looking back at the paper on his desk, Bruce tried to keep reading, but found he couldn't get Alfred's words out of his head.

_How can I even repair the hole Jack left?_ Bruce stood from his desk and grabbed his coat. He wasn't good at these types of things, but Tim had suffered enough presently. It was time for Bruce to swallow that uncomfortable lump in his throat and time to repair some of the damage left behind from Jack.

…….

Bruce didn't even bother knocking when he reached Dick's apartment knowing the older man was gone and not wanting to give Tim the chance to sneak out. Bruce found the teenager lying on the couch, an arm draped over his face, but not asleep. He didn't so much as move as Bruce walked closer to the couch.

"We need to talk, Tim," the older man said as he reached the couch.

The teenager moved his arm and looked up at Bruce. "I'm fine," he said.

"No, you aren't," Bruce said as he sat down next to Tim without asking. "You haven't been fine since your father left. You eat just what you have to, you hardly talk, you're barely existing."

"Leave it, Bruce."

The older man laughed which seemed both out of place for Bruce and for the situation. "That's my line, Timothy and not yours. I'm not going to watch you just fall into this depression any more." The teenager opened his mouth, but the older man cut him off. "I know I didn't say anything before and so why would I bother now. Here's the thing, I've made a lot of mistakes with you and Dick and Jason. I've seen all of you get hurt physically and mentally and have rarely said anything. But this is different."

Bruce stopped for a moment making sure Tim was still paying attention. "This is about you and your father. This is about a family that isn't mine in any true sense. I can't stand by and watch the world I've created destroy something that it was never supposed to be a part of. I know your father loves you. He cares deeply for you. You have to understand that he made a mistake."

Tim looked at the far wall. "You don't understand."

"What don't I understand?"

The teenager shook his head, "Forget it."

"No Timothy!" Bruce pointed a finger at the teenager's chest, which struck the younger man as the action of an irate teacher, which, in some way, Tim figured Bruce was. "You will tell me what is going on and now!"

Like before at his house, Tim almost felt something snap inside of him and angry flood his system.

"He blamed me, okay, Bruce! My dad stood in front of me and blamed all the problems of our family on me." The teenager laughed softly. "Oh, he said it was a mistake, but you should have seen his face." Tim looked directly at Bruce for the first time. "He looked at me and for that brief instant, before he realized what he had said, I saw the truth in his eyes. He knows with his entire being that I was the cause of all our problems; that I somehow even lead to the gambling problem."

"That's ridiculous, Tim."

"You weren't there! You didn't hear or see him. Everything in his life that has gone bad is my fault. And he's right, you know. If I hadn't been Robin, I never would have lied and made him not trust me. My family woulda been normal and everything would be okay!"

Tim sat up abruptly and stood even before Bruce realized it. "Just forget it, okay. There's nothing you can do; nothing anyone can do." The teenager began to move away, but was stopped by Batman's voice.

"Stop."

Without thought, the younger man obeyed.

"Your father loves you," he said again. "I don't know what he said, but I don't doubt there was some truth to the claims he made." Tim flinched slightly at that. "But, at the same time, it's not all your fault. Your father had issues when you were growing up and no one can claim he was the best father then. You grew up, basically, without him. You became a young man on his own and then your mother died and everything that had been established, no matter how out of sorts it might seem to other people, came crashing down. When that happened, everything had to be re-aligned, but neither you nor your father knew how to do that.

"By then you both had your own lives. You barely knew your father and vice versa, but he wanted you back in his life; he needed to make up for all that he realized he had lost. And you, you had to choose, but you didn't. You see Tim you tried to live in both worlds. You wanted to be Robin and you wanted to have you father. So, you tried to give both your entirely being and the problem was there is only one of you.

"You became torn, but, in the end, Robin won. Robin was the epitome of the life you had created for yourself before your dad came back. You couldn't get rid of that last bit of freedom and so you allowed yourself to lie to your dad. You allowed Robin to take over and, what happened was that it caused a clash and the break you now have. Your father's gambling was just another issue that became tacked on to the vast amount of issues already there. And, in the end, this was the breaking point."

Tim, who had stood silently during Bruce's soliloquy, blinked to clear his thoughts. It was almost frightening how quickly Bruce had pegged his life in a few short minutes.

"What do I do then?" The teenager asked weakly, finally realizing that something had to be done.

"Talk to him when you are ready. Both of you have to admit to the problems and defects you've had. This is not either one of yours fault entirely." Bruce bit the inside of his cheek at the end of that sentence. Deep inside, Bruce longed to blame Jack (and had) for all these issues, but he knew Tim would never heal that way. The teenager needed the chance to clear his soul as well and, if this is what it took, this is what Bruce would do.

"What if he won't listen?"

Bruce smiled at the younger man. "I'm sure you can make him."

The mood instantly changed in the apartment when Tim smiled at that comment. Though the light in the young man's eyes was far from what it once had been, Bruce was certain he saw the first signs of hope in them since the kidnapping. It was a small victory, but, presently, it meant the world to Bruce and he knew it would mean the same to Alfred and Dick.

The ironic thing was, Bruce came to Tim's aid under the advice that the teenager not feel like he lost another father, but the advice he gave, in fact, pushed Tim in the direction of only having one. It was for the best, though, and that was what mattered.

"Bruce," the younger man said and Bruce looked up. "Thank you."

A smile followed the comment and, for a moment, Bruce felt that the gratitude wasn't just for his coming over now, but for something more. Something that neither ever acknowledged nor probably ever would, but that would always be there. Tim would hopefully get his father back and that family, but he would never forget nor give up the other family he'd come to know and love.

And, in the end, that was all Bruce could ever want.

…….

TBC


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Author's notes: Okay, so I'm actually at my school and am suppose to be doing work. Luckily these little cubicles hide me and all people can hear is type so they'll assume I'm working. Brilliant! Anyhow, here it is. The last part and epilogue. I do want to apologize for how long it took the story to be fully out there; the story began is good times, went through bad times, and ended at new times. Fun to see the evolution there. I suppose it'll always be special to me in that way.

So, thank you to those you hung around. I appreciate the reviews endlessly; they make me smile every time.

I highly enjoyed writing this story because I think we had people in costumes, like… twice. It's fun to play with the Bat Family outside their normal realm sometimes.

Enjoy!

Masquerade

Part fifteen

…….

Tim leaned heavily on the crutch that supported him as he stared at the door. It had been a month since he was kidnapped by Gardenee to repay his father's debt, three weeks since he'd vacated the Cave and took up home with Dick, and a week and a half since Leslie operated on his knee. It was impossible to tell what would happen to his leg, but at this very moment, that thought didn't concern him.

Over the three weeks with Dick, Tim had slowly worked himself out of the depression he'd slipped into so quickly after things had gone so terribly wrong with his father. He's life had become one filled with his 'other' family who were constantly there to just sit and talk with the teenager. Even Bruce. It wasn't his true family, but it was still wonderful.

And finally, he'd decided to take Bruce's words to heart; finally he felt ready to try and talk to his father again and that was why he was now he was standing in front of the apartment where his father lived once again on crutches. The events of that awful night suddenly flashed through Tim's brain and he wondered (not for the first time) if this was a wise thing to do. He might feel ready to talk to Jack, but that didn't mean that his father was ready to talk to him. Feeling his heart rate increase slightly, the young man shook his head, closed his eyes, and knocked on the door.

As he waited, Tim's mind flew back to all the conclusions and realization that he had made over the past weeks.

Jack, even if he hadn't always been there, was a constant in Tim's life that he desperately needed right now. He needed to know that things would be okay again and that he was okay. There was a part of Tim, the true sixteen-year-old part, that had stayed hidden from Bruce, Dick and Alfred while in their company that, on many levels, he wasn't even aware he did. But years of training and living around those who kept their emotions tightly sealed, had been rubbed off and no matter how many times they asked if everything was alright, the full answer would never escape Tim's lips. It was also this part of Tim that still had nightmares about being tied to the bed as his leg was shattered; that had been resigned to die on the floor of a cabin and that was terrified he would lose his father forever. These fears he could barely face himself let alone tell Bruce or Dick about them. And so it was that part of Tim that desperately needed his father to just be there if only because he was the one person the teenager felt he could hid nothing from anymore after all that already had been hidden.

Tim wanted to fix things with his father and to do that he knew that he had to come to the Drake resident ready to share all his fears and his sorrow and anything else that would be necessary to fix the damage of the past. And Tim knew he father would have to do the same. In order to be whole again, they would have to begin again.

The door suddenly opened and Tim was thrown abruptly from his thoughts. He looked up into the share blue eyes of his father and said the only thing that came to his mind:

"I'm sorry."

The older man stared at his son as if he was seeing a ghost. "Tim?"

The teenager nodded and slowly stepped forward. "I'm sorry," he repeated and watched helplessly as his father continued to just stare at him. Even angry words were better than silence and the young man felt his heart wretch painfully in his chest at his dad's blank stare.

Jack was, in fact, at a loss of words. He never expected to see his son again after their last exchange. He had come to accept the fact that the two of them were more broken than either had ever been aware. Jack knew they were too far gone to fix things and he had slowly begun to try and accept the fact that Bruce would now be his son's father.

The only light in this entire affair was Dana who had done as she promised and come back home. She, somehow, did not seem surprised to see Timothy was not home and a part of Jack, the part that had lost all hope, knew it would only be a matter of time before his wife left him. After all, that was the only thing he was good at: pushing those he cared for the most as far away from him as possible.

And yet, Jack realized and his eye fell on Tim, the one person he pushed the hardest both on purpose and by mistake was suddenly standing in front of him apologizing.

"What are you doing here?" Jack questioned amazingly.

Tim felt tears formed in his eyes as began to speak. "I needed to see you," he whispered while looking at the ground. A few stray tears fell from his eyes and splashed onto the carpeted floor. Talking a calming breather, that actual did not calm him any, the teenager looked at his father. "I had to say I was sorry. I _am_ sorry, dad. I never meant for any of this to happen. I just…" Tim shook his head as he became frustrated with his verbal skills. "I just _need_ you to be my dad again."

Jack felt his own tears at the desperation in his son's voice. How had this child, this once so proud and brave young man who stood before him on so many occasions and meet Jack's stare head on in an all out battle of words, been reduced to this lost boy in front of him? Jack blinked to clear his vision and found that Timothy remained as young as ever. His son had never been anything more than a child through all this. He may have been a superhero, but his was still only sixteen years old and Jack suddenly realized he had forgotten that.

He had forgotten that Timothy was his child. He had forgotten what it meant to be a father. But, more importantly, he had forgotten how desperately he needed his child. Tim, through all the problems and all the worry that had occurred always was his son. Even in their worse moments, Jack had never stopped loving his child and suddenly he realized he never would.

And yet he had pushed Tim away. He had pushed his child away because of the love that once had cause him to worry endlessly over his child. For the first time, as Jack stared at his son looking so worn and young, the older man realized the pure senselessness of his actions.

"Oh, Timothy," he said while shaking his head. "I am a fool. I'm the one who's sorry; I'm the one who has to ask for your forgiveness. I never meant to see you get harmed. I never meant to lie." The older man reached a hand out to his son. "I never meant to leave. I never meant to push you away."

The young man fell into his father's offered arms. "It's okay," he said. Tim held tightly onto his father's forearm while he spoke. "We've both made a mess of everything."

Jack released a soft laugh, "Yes, we have," he said as he gently lowered both of them to the ground being mindful of Tim's braced leg. "But, we can fix it."

Tim's breath hitched, "What if we cant?" The teenager asked and gripped his father tighter. Jack said nothing, but simply held his child as the young man succumbed to tears that had long been held back as well as the fears he had kept at bay. "What if it's all too much? What if we can fix this? What if…"

"We will be okay," Jack interrupted and looked directly into his son's eyes. "We will be okay," he repeated and Tim found himself compelled to believe.

And thus, father and son fell into silence as clung to each other like lifelines.

…….

Hours later, Tim and Jack sat across from each other in the sparse living room. Since removing themselves from the floor, neither had said anything, but simply sat in silence nursing a cup of tea. There was much to be said in order for any repairing to be done, but neither knew how to start or where to start. Tim watched the steam rise from his china glass and followed it until he was looking at his dad. Jack, too, was staring into his cup of tea with great interest.

Licking his lips, Tim spoke, "When I was lying on the ground and had a gun aimed at me the only thing I could think was 'I won't be able to tell dad I'm sorry.'" Tim looked back at his cup unable to meet his father's eyes. "I am sorry for the lies I told and the secrets I kept." He looked up to try and catch his father's eye. "I wanted to tell you about Robin, I really did, but I just, I couldn't."

The young man sighed. "I couldn't tell you because of other people's whose lives were at stake. I know that's not a good reason, but it's the truth. And," the teenager sighed, "I had to be Robin so I chose not to tell you."

It was the first truly honest thing about Robin that Tim could truly remember telling his father. In the end it had come done to the fact that to be Robin he had to keep the secret from his father and he had been okay with that.

"I wish you had told me," Jack said shaking Tim from his thoughts.

"I wanted to!" Tim all but cried. He then calmed for a moment and spoke again, "I just…I made a choice, dad. I know you don't necessarily understand how I could make it, but I did. Robin was an amazing gift that Bruce gave me and I… I loved it." The teenager smiled up to his father as if imploring him to understand. "I can't explain, but I knew that I had to be Robin; that I had to help people and…and I just never realized the sacrifices that had to be made." He sighed.

"By the time I realized what I would have to keep from you I had already been Robin and I just…I couldn't give it up."

Tim looked at his father and could only hope that he understood somehow. That Jack could see that it was never that Tim loved Robin or Bruce more than his own family, but that he loved them at least equally, but to have both meant having to take away from the other. In the end, Tim loved his family, but knew that Robin was the better choice and so, that was the one he picked.

Jack stared long at his son and looked deep into the boy's face as if attempting to find understanding. The older man then stood and moved next to his son.

"You never thought I would be able to understand," he stated and Tim found he could not argue.

"I didn't," he admitted. "On top of not having the right to tell you, I didn't think you would let me if you knew."

Jack looked into his son's blue eyes that looked so much like Janet's. "I don't think I would have."

Father and son looked at one another, the truth laid out before them clearer than it ever had been. Neither, though, knew what to do with it now. Tim admitted having chosen Robin over his family and Jack admitted that he would have been okay with his son's nighttime activities.

"I love you," the younger Drake suddenly blurted out. Jack looked at his son and smiled lightly.

"I love you, too."

And, though it was not enough to fix everything, it was a step in the right direction.

"I don't blame you," Jack stated. "There are many hurt feelings," he admitted, "but I never could blame you for this. It's…it is my fault."

Tim shook his head. "Dad…"

"No, son, it is. I had a problem and I kept it from you and look what happened," he gestured to Tim's form. "I'm a terribly father, I…"

"Stop it!" The teenager finally yelled at his dad. "Just stop it. I don't blame you."

"But…"

The teenager shook his head. "I don't blame you," Tim said again. Jack looked at his child and could see the unwavering conviction in his eyes. Looking at his son and seeing that Tim held no anger towards him caused the older man to shake his head.

"How can you not?"

Tim stood and gave his father and gentle smile. "Because you are my dad," he said simply.

Jack returned the smile, albeit with a twinge of sadness, "And you are my son," he stated hoping his child could understand that Jack did not blame Timothy for any wrongs.

"We're okay?" The teenager asked.

Jack put a hand on his son's shoulder. "We will be."

That night, in the Drake apartment, bridge had been crossed. There was still more to say and there would be for many days to come, but the beginnings of healing had occurred. Jack and Tim now had a chance to put the past where it belong and moved forward. More arguments would be had, more tears would be shed in the next trying hours, but, in the end, father and son would have the new start they both so desperately needed.

…….

EPILOGUE

Six months after the incident, Tim found himself staring apprehensively at the mat in front of him. Leslie told him that his leg should be healed now and physical exercises were acceptable. Tim was terrified, however, and had yet to step onto the mat to complete the kata routine he'd done countless times before.

_What if my leg does hold? What if it didn't heal properly? What if...?_

Tim shook his head. That was not helping matters. The leg had yet to hurt since he started his jogging and sprinting. The next obvious step was to put more intense pressure and work his leg at angles he hadn't tried in over six month. It was time to see where he stood both literally and figuratively. Cracking his neck, the young man moved to the mat and began to move.

The movements were choppy, ungraceful after lack of practice, but they were still _there._ Tim felt like laughing out loud. Everything felt _right. _The young man continued to move around the mat unheeded by the leg that had been the source of nightmares for months now. Smiling mentally, Tim took a deep breath and focused on the kata, increasing the speed and the agility necessary.

As he moved, the teenage was unaware of the audience that stood at the stairs watching intently.

Bruce looked over at Jack and watched the older man's face turn into a picture of awe. To Bruce, Tim looked slightly out of control and off-balanced, but that was what a trained eye saw. Bruce knew that to Jack, Tim looked amazing. There was a grace to Tim that one would never image possible in someone his age. Bruce had seen this grace turn deadly in the middle of a fight, but, on the mat in the middle of the Cave, this grace was inspiring.

"He's amazing," Jack stated never taking his eyes away from his son. Tim moved across the mat and Jack had to make certain that his son's feet even touched the ground. There was an elegance to the young man's movement, but there was also something that spoke of strength behind Tim's actions. Jack saw something within his son now; something he had never noticed before.

Tim was _powerful_.

As he was watching, Tim back-flipped and Jack nearly jumped as a metal pole suddenly came alive in his son's hand. "What?" Jack asked incompletely.

"It's his bo-staff; he uses it very effectively." Bruce watched Tim's work with his bo for a few seconds before adding: "More effectively then most anyone I've ever seen." He pointed at the teenager's arms while Tim stood still for a moment of concentration in the kata. "See how it is not a weapon in his hands, but rather an extension of his body. He uses it as if it was a part of him, not something that gets in the way." As Bruce finished his brief explanation, Tim began the move once more and Jack could actually see what the younger man had been talking about.

"Is he good?"

Bruce nodded. "He really is. He didn't have the training Dick had while in the circus nor the fearlessness that Jason had. Everything that he has become today he's work exceptionally hard for." Bruce turned and looked at Jack. "When he found me, he wasn't asking to be Robin, but he was asking simply for Batman to _have_ a Robin. He understood something that not even I understood. He knew that Batman needed a Robin and he made me realize this as well." The younger man turned and looked back at Tim who had begun to smooth out his movements to something that Bruce was used to seeing. "It was his intellect that first caught my attention. Not only did he figure out something that no one else has, but he came to me brimming with ideas and concepts, never once truly asking to be brought into this family. It was then his strength and his will that made me realize he, as Robin, would be perfect. From then on, it was his determination that made him move like you are watching."

Bruce nodded his head approvingly as Tim executed a will-timed front flip into a controlled roll bringing his bo out protectively. "All that you see here has been the result of hours of hard work. I've seen Tim at his lowest as Robin, but I've also seen him at his highest." The younger man looked at Jack one more time. "He is gifted, Jack. Tim is good at what he does."

Jack tore his eyes away from Tim to meet Bruce's gaze. "I don't want to see him hurt."

"I don't want to either and he won't be. He's had the proper training and has a good head on his shoulders."

Bruce continued to watch Tim and saw a flash of who the young man once had been and who he could once again be.

Tim finished the kata and both older men could see the smile of satisfaction on the teenager's face, but also the determination. Bruce knew that Tim understood he was not ready to return to the streets and would not be for many months. Looking over at Jack, Bruce also knew that Tim would not return to the streets if his father disapproved.

"What would you do if he was your child?" Jack suddenly asked.

Bruce instantly thought back to Dick and those nights when the younger man lived in the Manor and held the same title as Tim.

"I would worry non-stop, I would hate it every time he got hurt, I would never sleep soundly while I knew he was still out there, but I would let him go knowing that if I held him back he would suffer more than I ever would."

Bruce looked at Jack. "People like Tim and Dick are not meant to be held back, they are meant to soar and to be free to make their own choices and their own mistakes. They do more good for themselves and for the world when they are allow to roam freely. It is a tragedy to keep them locked up because we want to be selfish and keep them safe."

"You will look out for him?"

Bruce nodded, "As if he his my own child."

"Then maybe I was wrong," Jack looked back at his son. "Maybe he was meant to help others."

"I think he was, Jack. I really do," Bruce said with conviction.

"Then I suppose it's time for Batman to have his Robin back."

Bruce smiled slightly and felt a sense of pride rise in him and a sense of excitement at being able to tell Tim that one day, once he was ready, the costume would be his again.

A sense of calm settled over Bruce and, for the first time in a while, he felt that things would be okay. Looking at Tim who was walking off the mat and feeling the presence of Jack beside him, Bruce realized that maybe things would be okay in the end.

And maybe both families would survive this horrible experience and come out stronger than ever.

It was certainly something to look hope for and Bruce felt it might not be as far out of their reach as it once appeared.

The end.

Thank you again and FB is greatly appreciated :-)


	16. Extra Scene

I've never done this before, but I had to with this story. A lot of people asked why didn't Bruce just give Jack the money. The funny thing is I had dealt with that, but found it hard to figure out where the scene would fit in and finally found I was unhappy with it being anywhere in the story. Not sure why, but that's what I felt. So, here is the scene that I wrote, but never posted. Consider it having been somewhere in between when Jack left Bruce's after Bruce offered his help and he came home, but before the chat with Dana.

…….

Jack was stopped at a red light on his way home to Dana when the cell phone he'd left in the car rang. The older man jumped slightly, but groped quickly for the phone.

"Hello?" He asked breathlessly just as the light turned green. Horns instantly interrupted the conversation and Jack hit the gas driving into the intersection. "Hello?" He asked again.

"I can get the money," the voice, now recognizable as Bruce, said over the line.

"What?"

"You said you owed Gardenee money and I can get the money to pay him back."

Jack quickly pulled his car to the side of the road to avoid any accidents. Once in park, he gripped the cell phone tightly.

"You'll give me the money?"

The voice on the other end seemed to grow colder. "No, I would be giving Tim the money."

"I don't need your help, Bruce."

A humorless bark of laughter came over the phone line. "You already asked for it."

"You volunteered," Jack bit back not even bothering to consider how ridicules the conversation was. Bruce had offered to fix everything in one swoop, not as Batman, but as Wayne and Jack found himself resisting. Pride was an interesting deadly sin; it did not operator by reason and, in some part of Jack's brain, he had asked Batman to help him, not Bruce. Batman was a legend, he was something that people told stories about; he didn't truly exist. Bruce Wayne was flesh and blood and had stolen his son away; Wayne was the father that Jack never had been. If he asked Bruce for help, Jack would he admitting all his failure and he would not give Bruce that satisfaction.

Bruce was the bane of Jack's existence and he would never- _could­­- _never ask him for help.

"No, Bruce, I don't want that."

"You are a fool then and your son will pay for your pride."

The phone went dead and Jack was almost tempted to call Bruce back. Was he letting pride get in the way of his son's well being? Was he being irrational in only seeking the help of Batman, a creature that he still found himself unable to associate with Bruce?

Jack shook his head and closed the phone. He had to get home to Dana. Batman would take care of things and his child would be back safe and sound. Wayne would not have to save Timothy from anyone's clutches.

Jack put the car into drove and headed home to be with Dana.

End scene.

Okay, so here's my rational for not having put this in the first time. There's a lot going on there in Jack's head and I didn't want to have to pause the story in order to explain how I saw things. But, now that the story is over, I'll dive into it.

Jack has issues with Bruce because Bruce is flesh and blood and is representative of all the ways that Jack failed his son. Batman is this fictional entity to Jack, like he is to so many Gotham citizens. In Jack's head he understands that Bruce and Batman are one and the same just as he understands that Tim and Robin are now one and them same, but the association is still difficult to make. And here, asking Batman for help is like praying to God; he's asking something that he doesn't know if he should accept is real or not. By asking Bruce, though, he would be lowering himself and showing Bruce that he needs the help; that he can't take care of his family on his own.

So, there ya go. That's why I have this scene and why things didn't work out so easily for poor Tim in my head.


End file.
